Hunger Games: Fandom Style
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Magic and monsters come to light in the Games while the Capital falls back on an ancient curse to keep the Districts in line. Featuring Sherlock, Merlin, Ranger's Apprentice, Avengers, Pirates of the Caribbean, Frozen, OUAT, Peter and the Starcatchers, Lord of the Rings, Twilight, Artemis Fowl, and Harry Potter.
1. District 12: Sherlock (BBC)

**Characters are the property of their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them.**

 **The Districts struggle, not just to survive, but also to hide their secrets. Magic (and things far more dangerous) lurk at the edges of Panem. Werewolves, wizards, spies, and even a Holmes just try to keep their heads down. But this year, Artemis Fowl has a plan. A plan for this year's Reaping that may finally push the Districts to rebel. A plan that will bring all of their secrets to light. Of course, the Capital didn't survive the Dark Days by looking pretty. The secret to their victory still waits undiscovered, and threatens to turn these Games into the final nail in 24 coffins . . . Featuring Sherlock, Merlin, Ranger's Apprentice, Avengers, Pirates of the Caribbean, Frozen, OUAT, Peter and the Starcatchers, LotR, Twilight, Artemis Fowl, and Harry Potter. Multiple character deaths.**

Mrs. Hudson was pregnant again. She'd been eating peppermints, a luxury she only allowed herself right after the news came in. The smell was heavy on her breath today as she ordered the inmates of the children's home to line up for the reaping.

Smeared lipstick, the scent of pine, Lucy's new ring. Daniel had kissed Lizzie. Ellis had snuck out to the woods again. Lucy had been stealing again, probably from the Hob.

He hadn't realized he'd been muttering his deductions out loud until Mycroft nudged him.

Right. Don't stand out, don't be different, stop upsetting people. Why try to impress when you'll only end up in the mines anyways?

"Nervous?" John whispered as they filled up the holding pen.

"No."

"I am. What if they pick Mary?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "So this week's crush outweighs your two oldest friends. I'm touched." He was John's oldest friend. John was his only friend. It worked out nicely.

"Why would I be worried about you? If you get picked, I can just volunteer. I can't do anything about Mary."

Sherlock blinked. "You would do that?"

John shrugged. "We're friends."

Sherlock had seen blood brothers turn their back on family on Reaping Day. John would do it for a friend. For him.

Two years ago, the skeptical side of him would have assumed he was lying, but by now Sherlock had seen enough of his roommate to know the truth. John was loyal to a fault.

The ceremony passed in a blur. "Ladies first," the woman trilled. (Plastic surgery, three places. Heel twisted from impractical stilettos. Wig, probably synthetic.)

"Mary Morstan."

John jerked forward. Sherlock grabbed his wrist. "You can't help her by getting shot," he hissed.

John tried to shake him off, but Sherlock's grip was iron. Pale faced, Mary ascended the stage.

"Now for the boys."

Not me, not me, not me -

"John Watson."

Sherlock froze. No. No. No. John tried to tug his arm from Sherlock's deadlocked grip.

No. No. No.

"Sherlock, the peacekeepers are coming," John whispered frantically.

They marched through the pen, shoving aside the other boys.

They would take him. They would take him, and Sherlock would watch him die on that television screen, and he couldn't let go, he couldn't, so Sherlock stepped in front of John.

"I volunteer," he blurted out. "I volunteer as tribute."

"No," Mycroft said. "No, you can't! Sherlock!"

Now John was holding on to him. "He didn't mean it, there's something wrong with his brain, it's a condition - "

But Sherlock twisted his arm out of John's grip and ran past them onto the stage. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. And I volunteer as tribute."


	2. District 11: Merlin (BBC)

There were advantages to being the mayor's son, even in District 11. For one thing, it meant Arthur never had to worry about working in the fields or going hungry. It meant he wasn't entered for tesserae.

But come Reaping Day, he was still vulnerable. Arthur hated feeling vulnerable. It was why he had insisted on combat lessons from a corrupt peacekeeper. It was why every previous year he had surrounded himself with sycophants to distract himself from his nerves.

Somehow, though, after Merlin had come to work for his father, the sycophants had lost their appeal. Merlin could be an infuriating idiot, but he was an honest infuriating idiot, and sometimes even a funny one. Speaking of Merlin, where was he?

He scanned the crowd. As he did, his eyes fell on the girls' section, and he gave Morgana and Gwen an encouraging wave. Morgana might be adopted, but she was as close as a real sister, and although Gwen was technically only the family cook . . . well, Arthur intended to change that. If they could get through the reaping alive, that is.

There Merlin was. He was laughing with some of the brawnier workers from the fields. Gwaine and Lancelot, he thought they were called. His father didn't approve of them. He thought they were troublemakers. If he saw Merlin with them from where he was sitting grimly on the stage . . .

"Merlin!" he called.

Merlin nodded goodbye to his friends and pushed his way over. "Your Highness," he said with a mocking bow.

"Don't call me that," he snapped.

"Of course not, Prince Arthur."

"Do you _want_ to go back to the fields?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.

Merlin flinched, then straightened up. "What was it you wanted?" he asked.

Arthur searched for something to say, but nothing came out.

"You're nervous!" Merlin accused.

"Of course not!"

"Really? Then why are you green?"

"Shut up, Merlin."

The woman from the Capital, Nora Leski, started towards the microphone. Red eyeliner bled down her face.

Just like our tributes, Arthur thought grimly. Someday someone's going to have to teach the Capital a lesson about that. Maybe Gwaine and Lancelot had the right of it after all.

"Ladies first," Nora said.

"I know it's polite to let ladies go through line first or whatever, but when it comes to dying, don't you think it would be more polite to let the ladies go second?" Merlin muttered.

Arthur elbowed him.

Nora had paused for dramatic effect. She looked down now. "Morgana Pendragon."

Uther surged to his feet.

A strange fog blurred Arthur's vision. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion. Morgana, ascending the stage, face even paler than usual. Nimueh, standing from her victor's seat to help Uther back into his chair. The whole world was roaring and rushing.

 _Someday someone's going to have to teach the Capital a lesson._ What was wrong with today?

"Merlin Emrys."

What? Then he saw Merlin walk shakily forward, and he understood.

Lancelot and Gwaine were already lunging forward, but he beat them to it. They wouldn't protect Morgana in the arena like he would.

"I volunteer as tribute."

Uther's face was as white as a sheet, but it was too late to stop Arthur now. He smiled at Morgana as he walked up to the stage.

Sorry, Father, but I have to do this. For all of our sake's.

Arthur wasn't surprised when the door to the visiting room banged open with enough force to dent the wall. He was surprised to see Merlin was the one behind it. He'd been expecting his father.

"Of all the idiotic, donkey brained, dollop headed, things to do! What were you thinking?"

Arthur was a little offended. "I just saved your life!"

"I would have been fine!"

"Oh, yes, those great big muscles of yours would have been pulling sponsors right and left."

"I don't need muscles! I've got magic!"

Arthur blinked. He looked over at Lancelot, who'd slipped in behind Merlin. "Did the sun finally fry his brains?"

"He's not joking. Show him, Merlin."

Great. They were both crazy.

"Pyra Pendragon."

Really, really, cra- Arthur jumped back. A fiery image of a dragon had appeared in the air.

Magic. There was such a thing as magic. And Merlin, _Merlin_ , had it. "And you never mentioned this because . . . "

Merlin shrugged. "You might have mentioned it to your father. He might have mentioned it to the Capital. Next thing you know, I'm being dissected on national TV. But that's not the point. The point is, there was no need for you to volunteer."

"Someone had to," Lancelot said. "Otherwise you'd have used said magic, and next thing we know, you're getting - "

"Dissected on national television," Arthur finished dazedly. Was he dreaming? Was that what was going on?

Merlin paced around the room. "I'm coming with you, of course. I might be able to do something from the Capital."

"How are you going to get there?" Lancelot asked.

"Oh, that part'll be easy. Nimueh and I go way back."


	3. District 10: Avengers

Natasha had never liked District 10. The simple agrarian style of life had never appealed to her, and a future raising livestock certainly hadn't. At least she got to wear leather. She'd heard some districts weren't so lucky.

The stench of the cattle permeated the air even here, in the richest neighborhood District 10 had to offer. Not even the Starks could do anything about it, although she was sure Tony was working on that.

She pushed her way to the edge of the pen. She hated waiting here. No wolf liked to be kept in a sheep pen.

She could just spot a boy she thought was Bruce backing away from those bullying idiots who thought they could get away with anything because their daddy was rich. She'd have to teach them another lesson soon - ah, but Steve and Bucky were already taking care of that. Natasha didn't quite understand Steve, but she liked him. He was the kind of guy you could actually trust to keep an alliance in the Games. That was how honest he was. Of course, he was also the kind of guy to die in the initial bloodbath. It was amazing the kid had survived this many of 10's harsh winters, and he might not last the next one.

Clint pushed his way up to the edge. "Hey, Tasha."

"Barton." Clint was like that too. Honest. Almost chivalrous, but not in an annoying, 'You obviously can't do anything' sort of way.

Victor and mentor Nick Fury was already up on the stage in his traditional black trench coat. He reached up to adjust the eye patch that had been made necessary by his final battle in the Games. Some things even the Capital couldn't fix.

Ivi North ascended the stage, complete with greenery wrapped around her neck like a boa. Natasha fantasized about getting close enough to grab both ends of that boa and twist . . . Those plastic surgery green eyes would look a lot better bulging out of Ivi's head.

"Stop smiling like that. You're making me nervous."

She started. "Sorry." She noticed how his fingers kept absentmindedly reaching for arrows that weren't there. She stifled a smile. He was one to talk.

Still, she let him. It was easier than telling him what she had planned this year. She was going to volunteer. She was sick of this place, sick when she thought of the future that awaited her. She was not going to spend her life milking cows. If the Games were her only way out, so be it.

Clint might not understand though. Better not to tell him.

She spent the long minutes of Ivi's annual speech thinking of ways to kill her. She was up to fifty-two when she heard the iconic words: "Ladies first."

Little did the Capital know how little this year's choice would matter. They would never has expected a volunteer from District 10.

"Pepper Po-"

"I volunteer." Natasha was already stepping forward. Pepper stood blinking. Poor girl. It wasn't every day you got a death sentence and a reprieve in the same breath.

Natasha made her way confidently to the stage.

"Your name?"

"Natasha Romanov." And I hate you and everything you stand for with a deep, fiery, passion.

Clint was still standing where she'd left him, horror and hurt spelled out across his face like it was a school workbook. Maybe she should have warned him after all.

"Now for the gentlemen," Ivi said. The ivy trailed behind her as she walked to the bowl.

Natasha's hand twitched.

"Clint Barton."

The one factor she hadn't counted on fell into deadly place, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She thought she saw Steve start to lunge forward, but Bucky had one huge arm wrapped around him to keep him there and another clapped over his mouth. Steve's heart had always been much bigger than his frail body. He would never survive the Games.

Clint was almost to the stage. She was amazed by how calm he was. Had he wanted out too?

"Excellent, excellent. If the two of you would shake hands - "

Only one of us can make it out. Only one of us can make it out. That thought kept running through her mind as she reached out her hand. Only one of us can make it out, and it has to be Clint.

Clint had a strange look in his eyes. He ignored her extended hand. Instead, he put a hand on each side of her face and kissed her in front of the whole of Panem.


	4. District 9: Harry Potter

**Some dialogue inspired by sections of the fifth book.**

The factories loomed over District 9 like hideous castles of industry. There was nothing to mark the one they had just left as any different to Muggle eyes, except for the small letters scratched on the third brick from the top and second brick to the right. Even if someone had noticed the strange word "Hogwarts" they probably would have dismissed it as graffiti.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped out of the blast doors. Hogwarts was nothing like the stories that had been passed down through the generations. The concrete building had no moving staircases, no bubbling potions, no talking portraits. The thin sticks of wood they kept hidden under their jackets were nicked and scratched till their cores showed through. The wands had been passed down from generation to generation. There weren't many unicorns around anymore to make wands from, and if the almost mythical phoenixes were still around, they had the good sense not to linger in the smog filled District 9. All that was left were a few tattered scraps of magic taught in the trash strewn halls of Hogwarts, the most useful of which was Obscuro Maximus, which had allowed them to avoid getting caught using magic in the Games for decades now.

Unfortunately, magic wasn't always enough to win, as Peter Pettigrew had proven. And Regulus Black. And Crabbe. And Lavender. And Seamus . . . And who knew how many others. Well, Hermione probably did. She knew everything.

Including the odds of getting chosen. "Since we all have only four entries in the bowl, the odds of us getting picked are actually only - "

"I don't want to know," Ron said glumly. "The odds were in Percy's favor too, weren't they? He only had one in that year."  
Hermione bit her lip. They'd been too young to remember too many details of Percy's Games, but the end result was always all too plain to see around the Weasley's dinner table.

At least none of them had taken tesserae out, Harry thought grimly. Lupin and Sirius had taken care of that. They used their winnings to help out the other wizarding families in District 9, even the Lestranges. As Sirius said, they might be strange, but they were still family. The same went for the Dursleys. They weren't wizarding, but Sirius and Lupin still looked after them for Lily's sake. She would have appreciated that.  
James, Sirius, and Lupin had won in consecutive years. The three Marauders, Sirius joked. By rights, James should be living next to them in a Victor's Mansion. Instead, he and Lily were next door to his parents, in the district cemetery. Sirius had always suspected the Capital had something to do with it, though he would never tell Harry more than that James hadn't been willing to do what the Capital had asked of him. Sirius didn't like talking about that. Even Tonks wouldn't tell him any more, although she did mention that sometimes being able to have a pig nose was a surprising advantage.

Sirius had taken Harry in after James and Lily's deaths. He was already at the District square, sprawled across two chairs, much to Mayor Fudge's dismay. Sirius pretended not to notice that he was taking up the mayor's chair in addition to his own until Lupin politely pointed it out to him.

"Sorry, Fudge, didn't see you there. How're things in the halls of the high and mighty? Say, you're not still looking for that guy who stole your mayor's plaque, are you?"

There was a gold plaque hanging on the mayor's door. Or, rather, there had been. Fudge had been inordinately proud of it. Harry suspected it could now be found somewhere in Sirius's room, ready to be used as a dining room centerpiece the next time Fudge came over.  
Hermione split off into the girl's pen. Ron watched her go with a slightly worried look.

"She'll be fine," Harry told him.

"I'm not worried about her! Look at Ginny! She's snogging Dean again!"

"That's her business, isn't it?" Harry said shortly. "Come on, it's about to start."

The typical film about the Dark Days rolled across the screen. Harry figured it was about as factual as Tom Riddle's drunken ramblings. There wasn't a single sign of magic in any of the glamorized fighting portrayed on screen.

Niva Hardee, their District escort, clasped a hand to her chest. "Oh, it takes my breath away. Isn't it wonderful?"

Ginny acted like she was gagging. Harry grinned.

"Now, ladies first - Ahh! Get it off me! Get it off!"

Worms were suddenly writhing in the girl's bowl. Thick black ones dripped off of Niva's fingers.

"Brand new in stock," Fred whispered from beside him. "Weasley's Worm Papers, just five cents per slip."

"How'd you get them up there?"

"Sirius and Lupin. We got McGonagall to help us with some of the transfiguration bits."

"McGonagall?" Ron whispered.

George appeared beside Ron. "She caught us working on it weeks ago. We figured she'd tell Mum and the game would be up, but she just told us what we were doing wrong. Great woman, McGonagall."

Sirius had finally stopped laughing long enough to help Fudge with Niva. She straightened her gloves, sniffing. "As I was saying, for the ladies, we have . . . Ginny Weasley."

All the air went out of Harry's lungs. The crowd around him was pressed uncomfortably close suddenly, as the boys hurried to hold back the Weasley brothers.

"Let go of me," Fred hissed. "I'm going to kill them! Let go of me, I'm going to kill them!"

Mrs. Weasley was wailing from the middle of the crowd. She'd already lost one child to the Games and another to the factories. Now she was about to lose yet another.

"Excuse me," a vague voice said. "Excuse me, I'd like to volunteer. It seems like the right thing to do."

Fred and George stopped struggling. "Luna?" they said together in stunned disbelief.

Sure enough, her white blonde hair was weaving through the crowd. "Excuse me," she said again to the Peacekeepers that were already gathered around Ginny.

Another wail went up from the crowd. Luna was all Xenophilius had left.

"Well," George said shakily.

"She won't make it," Ron said. "She'll think the mutts are crumple headed snorckacks or something."

Anger burned through Harry. This was wrong, all wrong. Even Sirius looked shaky as he helped Luna to the stage. Lupin shook her hand as she walked by.

Ginny was still standing in the muddy strip of road where the Peacekeepers had left her. Hermione slipped out of the pen to help her back into the safety of the crowd.

"Well, that was certainly exciting! What's your name, dear?"

Luna was waving at the crowd. "What? Oh, Luna. Luna Lovegood. Did you know there are a good deal of nargles flying around your head?

They can make it hard to think, you know." She started waving her arms to get rid of them.

"On second thought," George said, "she may confuse the competition enough to win. Imagine what her interview's going to be like."

"The Capital won't know what hit 'em," Fred said grimly. "You know, it would only be right to give her a present before she goes, George. Something she can share with the Capital. A gift from the Weasley family."

A glint came into George's eyes. "Some candy, perhaps?"

"Or even some fudge."

"We haven't figured out to get rid of the boils on that one yet."

They looked at each other for a long moment. "Perfect," they said together.

"Just make sure _she_ doesn't eat it," Harry said.

Niva managed to disentangle herself from Luna long enough to walk to the boy's bowl. She hesitated noticeably before sticking her hand in.

She snatched one off the top and drew her hand back as quickly as if she expected a snake to bite her. She glanced down at the paper. "Harry Potter."

Someone was screaming. Possibly several someones. Lupin and Tonks appeared to be holding Sirius back from attacking the woman, although Lupin didn't appear to be trying very hard. Fudge had already been shoved off the stage.

Harry walked forward as if in a dream. "Hello, Luna."

"Hello, Harry. This'll be interesting, don't you think? Aren't we supposed to shake hands now?"

Harry looked out at the chaos the camera crews didn't seem sure whether or not they were supposed to film. "Honestly, I don't think anyone would notice if we did."


	5. District 8: Twilight

**Author's Note: I know there's precious little middle ground when it comes to Twilight. Most either adore it or wish they could time travel it out of existence. The middle, however, is right where I come down on the issue, so that's how it'll be presented. Leah Clearwater is my POV character for this district. All vampires will remain relatively minor characters, and although I have no objections to Renesmee, for the sake of simplicity, in this universe, she does not exist.**

There were only supposed to be two divisions at a reaping, but in District 8 there were four, and Leah was uncomfortably close to the edge of hers. She was within arm's reach of a vampire and the stench was driving her crazy.

Better the stench than Sam, she thought sourly. Maybe if she got called to the Capital, she'd finally be far enough away not to hear him cooing about Emily in her head all the time.

Her nose wasn't the only thing that was itching. Her clothes were driving her crazy too. Just because 8 was the textile district didn't mean werewolves got new clothes for free, more's the pity. Her mom couldn't afford to keep buying her new ones. Leah'd been forced to make do with flour sacks and burlap. If she lost her temper while she was wearing these, she didn't know what she'd do.

Just don't lose your temper today. Whatever happens, do not lose your temper. We've managed to hide from the Capital all these years. Do not give those leeches the satisfaction of being the first to break the treaty. If those stone cold immortals can hide the fact that they're not human, so can you.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. The freaky Capital lady was still yapping away about the Dark Days treaty on the stage.

Leah blamed the leeches for the fact that they'd lost that war. If they'd been willing to give up their precious secrecy, they might not be being reaped for the Games now. But ever since their stupid "Volturi" whatevers had been killed by human weapons in the apocalypse, they were treating their immortal lives like they were made of glass. Whatever. They were cowards, every one. The pack had fought. Old Quil told those stories every year after the reaping. The real stories of the Dark Days, not this trash.

"Now for our . . . ladies," the escort said. She gave the girls in the pen a disparaging look.

Leah growled. She was horrified to realize the blond leech next to her had done the exact same thing. She was _not_ like them.

 _Good luck_ , Seth mouthed to her.

Haven't had much of that lately, she thought.

"Leah Clearwater."

Okay, that was kind of a new low.

She held her head high as she marched past the ice cold leeches. There were three of them now. What was the new one's name? Bella something?

She glared at the cameras when she got to the stage. They could make her go, but she would not play along with their games. She would go, she would fight, but she sure wasn't going to play nice about it, and if any stylist even thought about touching her . . . well, they could see how they liked playing dress up with a wolf.

Her mom's shoulders slumped, finally defeated. The hard shell around Leah's heart cracked a little. It wasn't fair, not so soon after her dad had died.

Seth was shaking. That was bad. If he lost it - but the others were surrounding him now. They'd get him calmed down.

She refused to look at Sam. She didn't want to see the relief she was sure would be in his eyes.  
Someone else was climbing the stage. They must have called the boy. Who was the lucky sacrifice this year?

The smell hit her. She wrinkled her nose instinctively. A leech. This could be bad. Wouldn't she have to be in an enclosed train with him for a few days? And they expected her not to morph? And how could she fight one on her own, without the pack? Hey, for that matter, no leech had ever been picked before. How was he going to hide the fact that swords would bounce right off him? How was he going to handle the bloodbath at the Cornucopia?

He was holding a hand out for her to shake. She did it as quickly as she could.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," he said in a velvety voice that made her skin crawl.

"You'll need all the help you can get, leech."

"Edward," he corrected her.

"Like I said. Leech." She turned towards the Justice Building. A Peacekeeper was trying to push Billy, their District's sole surviving victor, toward it too, but his wheelchair had gotten stuck.

"I've got it," she told him. I've got this. I'll totally win this.

Right?


	6. District 7: Ranger (John Flanagan)

**Author's Note: You may not have read these books. Even if you have, odds are there's probably at least one fandom represented you're not overly familiar with. For the most part, this shouldn't matter. I've tried to keep it so that you should be able to understand what's happening anyway. If you have a question though, please feel free to ask.**

Fifty-two green jackets, carefully stained with just the right shades of brown and grey, dotted the crowd of District 7. The Peacekeepers either didn't notice them or didn't know how easily the "random" pattern of stains could blend into the forest. The Rangers preferred it that way. It was safer. Their leader, Halt, made his way to the stage. Mayor King frowned at his grizzled appearance. Halt didn't believe in dressing up for the Capital. In fact, Will was pretty sure he dressed down.

The protective camouflage of the trees waited just outside the dingy square in front of the Justice Building. Will itched to be out under the safety of the green leaves with Halt and Tug.

"Steady," Horace muttered.

Will glared at him. "That's what I tell Tug," he said frostily.

Horace shrugged. "Good advice then."

Zizi Buffet finished the interminable speech about the Capital and the Dark Days. Will wished he'd been around for those. They'd see how smug the Capital was with a couple of his arrows in their faces.

"First, the gentlemen." She picked her way over to the glass bowl.

"Best of odds," Will muttered to Horace.

"Best of odds."

"Will Treaty," Zizi announced.

The color drained from Halt's face. Will started to walk forward dazedly.

Behind him, Horace had been gathering his courage. "I - "

Before he could finish, Will spun. The strikers leaped out of his pocket. He swung them forward. Horace collapsed to the pavement.

Sorry, Horace. I'm not going to let you die for me. He made his way to the stage and looked out over the crowd. Mutinous grumbling rolled from the crowd, There was Gilan, looking furious. There was Crowley, hand moving to where his throwing knives were concealed. Alyss's hands were clasped over her mouth.

Will was popular, and the Rangers looked after their own. Against the Capital though, what could anyone do?

"Now for the ladies. Dum, dum, de dum . . . Cassandra King."

Will choked. Alyss screamed. Cassandra made her way forward, her carefully styled blonde hair bobbing in the breeze. She was the mayor's daughter. She should have been totally safe.

Sometimes even the best of odds weren't good enough.


	7. District 6: Once Upon a Time

Of course they picked me, Red thought as she pushed her way forward. Of course they picked me. I'm the granddaughter of a former victor, and I'm already a murderer. I deserve to be picked. Why send someone to be made into a monster when Dictrict 6 already has one?

Of course, only Granny and Snow knew she'd killed Peter. Everyone else in town blamed the wolf that had been plaguing the District for generations. Little did they know she was the wolf, or at least the most recent incarnation of it.

Just like Granny, she was the wolf. Just like Granny, she would go to the Games.

Unlike Granny, she probably wouldn't survive it.

Granny wrapped her in a hug when she walked up to the stage. Mr. Gold, the District's only other living victor, nodded to her. Which Games had he won, anyway? The first one? He was old enough to have, surely.

Snow was even paler than usual. She'd be okay. Better off without a monster for a best friend. David would look out for her, protect her from her stepmother.

"And our lucky boy tribute is . . . Baelfire Gold! What a lovely name!"

A deadly silence descended over the town square. "What did you just say?" Mr. Gold asked in a quiet voice. He stood up from his chair, leaning on his cane. Red wondered if anyone else could smell the dried blood on it.

The woman looked startled. "Baelfire Gold. Oh, don't tell me you're related! How perfect! Two relatives of former tributes in the Games this year!"

"Check again," Mr. Gold said through gritted teeth.

"It's fine, Papa," Baelfire said quietly. "Really. I don't mind."

"I do. Check again."

Confused, the woman looked down. "Baelfire Gold. It says it right here."

Mr. Gold snatched the paper from her hand. He crumpled it up in his hand. Red's sensitive nose smelled a faint whiff of smoke.

The Peacekeepers started edging closer.

"Remember the Dark Days," Granny muttered.

"The Dark One has no fear of Dark Days," he snarled.

"You made a deal," she reminded him.

"And they've broken it."

"Not yet, they haven't. Or have you finally given up on Belle?"

Mr. Gold deflated, and the painful scent of dark magic started to fade from the air. He pulled Baelfire close to him. "You'll be all right," he promised. "I'll make sure of it."

The Capital might be getting more than they bargained for this year.


	8. District 5: Frozen (Disney)

The dam loomed as high as ever in her peripheral vision. Elsa wondered, for perhaps the thousandth time, how much of the water it held back she could freeze. Her palms itched to find out.

No. She pulled her gloves higher. Conceal, don't feel. No one could ever know. Her parents had told her what the Capital would make her do, what they would turn her into, if they ever found out. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them see. Especially not now, not with the cameras rolling around all over District 5.

"Elsa! Over here!" Anna huffed as she wormed her way closer to her sister. "There you are." Impulsively, she grabbed Elsa's hand.  
Elsa jerked back. She'd nearly killed Anna once before, proving that the monster the Council would try to bring out in her was never too far from the surface. She couldn't risk hurting Anna again.

It was too late for that, though. Hurt was already welling in Anna's eyes. Their parents hadn't wanted to tell her. Perhaps they would have, someday, but now it was too late. Now it was Weselton who sat in the mayor's chair on the stage instead of her father, and she and Anna had walked here from the orphanage instead of hand in hand with their mother from the townhouse.

Sera West, their District's escort, bounced up to the microphone. How did her head stay up with earrings that big? And her gloves were useless fishnet, no good for anything, although admittedly, they did look better than the too big work gloves Elsa had been forced to use after Anna had accidentally ripped their mother's precious white ones. Anna had beaten herself up over that for weeks.

At least this was her last year. All Elsa had to do was get through one more year, and she would be safely nineteen, old enough to be free from the reaping. Old enough to leave the orphanage and to take Anna with her.

Please, she prayed, please just get me through one more year.

And then, like a nightmare, the name was called.

"Anna Arandelle."

Elsa stood frozen as Anna walked forward. She tripped and fell on her face on her way to the stage. The Peacekeepers dragged her to her feet.

Frost was gathering around Elsa's feet. No, calm down, calm down, don't be the monster they want you to be.

I already am. I nearly killed Anna -

So now I have to save her.

Sera didn't even look surprised when she volunteered. "We're having a positive epidemic of volunteers this year. Way to represent your district! What's your name, dear?"

"Elsa?" The disbelief in Anna's voice broke her heart.

I did love you, Anna. I only stayed away from you to protect you. I'm so sorry I couldn't do more. I'm so, so sorry. "My name is Else Arandelle. Anna is my sister. And I love her more than anyone or anything else in this world."

A hush fell over the crowd. Sera actually sniffled. "On to the boys, then. Let's see we have - Hans Southson."

Hans stepped forward shakily, but he stopped to look back at his twelve brothers. Almost imperceptibly, they all took a step back.

Despite this, Hans practically swaggered his way to the stage.

"Any volunteers?" Sera asked brightly.

The wind answered. It was the only one.

"Alright then, shake hands with your fellow tribute, please."

Elsa held out her gloved hand. Instead of shaking it, Hans swept into a bow and kissed it lightly.

Sera squealed.

A regular Prince Charming, Elsa thought. One that'll have to die if I'm going to get back here so that Anna can have my victory money.

Hans was smiling at her. "If I have to leave the district, at least I get to leave with a beautiful woman."

One with a heart so frozen not even your flattery can melt it. She smiled back.


	9. District 4: Pirates of the Caribbean

Evie Richland, the Capital lass, made the mistake of trying to talk to Jack's father, otherwise known as Captain Morgan Sparrow, also known as the man who had threatened to gut Caesar Flickerman and make his guts into an anchor rope for his ship in his post-Games interview. Someone had pointed out that he wouldn't have to sail now that he was a victor, and Captain Morgan had publicly dared the Capital to try and stop him, a dare even the Capital hadn't had the nerve to take up.

The wind was blowing just right to carry the sea's salt tang. Jack itched to be out sailing on it. After all his scheming, he finally had a boat of his very own, and Jack fully intended to spend every possibly moment out on it.

The crowd shifted restlessly as the lass droned on. This lot was accustomed to stories with a good deal more of the sea and its many dangers and allures in them, not this landsmen's rubbish they were told every year. There was nothing wrong with repeating a good tale, but it needed to grow taller in every telling, not meander on in the same dusty style each time.

A monkey scampered by on the pen rail and snatched his hat from his head. "Hey! Come back! You!"

He ran after it, pushing his way through the crowd. The monkey was still on the fence rail. He scrambled up after it and gave chase, swaying as he ran across the thin post.

He leaped just as the monkey got to a corner. He landed in a trash pile at the foot of the pen's post. His hand waved the hat triumphantly in the air. "Got it!"

Everyone was staring at him as he brushed himself off and put his hat back on his head. "What?"

"The male tribute is Jack Sparrow," Evie said shakily.

Jack marched forward indignantly. "That's Captain Jack Sparrow, thank you very much." He twisted his hat into a better position.

She looked startled. "Aren't you a little young, Jack?"

"Captain Jack," he corrected her gravely. "It's only a small boat, but it's a boat nonetheless, eh?" He winked at her.

She giggled before she could stop herself. "Well, then, Captain Jack, let's see who'll be joining you in charming the Capital, shall we?" She patted her hair as she made her way to the bowl. "Tia Dolma!"

The mutters that no amount of Peacekeepers could ever stamp out died out instantly. Even Jack froze in place.

That wasn't her name. Not her real name. And if she was in these Games, then she would be the one walking out. No doubt about that. None at all. After all, the sea was forever, wasn't it? Not even the Capital could conquer the seas.

She smiled as she swayed gracefully forward. Her dress captured her figure to perfection, but no look anyone gave her contained anything but fear.

"Calypso," Jack greeted her with a sweeping bow.

"Jack." Her lips caressed his name as she dipped down into a curtsy. "That touch of destiny about you is about to come to fruition, I think."

Evie bustled forward. "Well, on to the Justice Building."

"After you," Jack invited, sweeping down into yet another bow and kissing her fingers as he did so.

She giggled again as she walked away. Jack held up her ring to the light. Captain Morgan snatched it from him as he walked by.

Calypso winked at him. Jack gave an innocent little shrug and whistled as the Peacekeepers hustled him along. Maybe he wouldn't do so badly after all.


	10. District 3: Lord of the Rings

Gandalf surveyed the seething crowds of District 3 from one of the seats reserved for victors on the platform. Galadriel sat like a queen beside him. Neither of them had ever actually been in the Games, of course, but that was a fact they were able to make people overlook quite easily.

Magic and technology was a strange mix, but between the two, he managed to get the Capital to overlook the eccentricities of the mixture of dwarves, elves, hobbits, and men that lived in the district itself, not to mention the trolls, Ents, and Radagast, who deserved a category all to himself, outside of it.

He settled his staff, strictly to help an old man walk, of course, more comfortably across his lap and leaned back in his chair. There ought to be time for a good nap before the actual reaping took place . . .

Gandalf, Galadriel whispered in his mind. He sat up quickly. Reaping time already?

"Eowyn Dernhelm."

A shout of protest went up from her people, but she walked forward with her head held high. Faramir cried out as she went past; she hesitated but went on.

"Gimli . . . Gloinsson?"

Ah, yes. A fine young dwarf, that. Not technically in the 12-18 range, but he was in his adolescence, and the dwarfish sense of fair play kept them in it until they considered themselves adults.

A small wave went through the crowd as Gimli made his way through. The dwarf stomped up the stage steps with his axe slung across his shoulder.

The escort - what was her name? - whoever she was, screamed. "Peacekeepers!"

Gimli looked around in honest bewilderment. "What's wrong?"

Eowyn leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"But it's my district token! It's a family heirloom, this."

"Nonetheless, I'm afraid it's not allowed, Master Dwarf," Gandalf told him gravely.

Gimli clutched it all the tighter. "I can't go without a token from my fathers for luck," he said stubbornly.

Galadriel knelt before him. She unsheathed a dagger from her bodice and cut three locks from her hair and handed them to him. "They may not be from your fathers, but they may bring you good fortune all the same. Will you accept them, Gimli, son of Gloin?"

He stared in awe at the strands that gleamed like gold in the sunlight. The district's elvish population stared in awe.

"Aye, I will," he said. "I'll leave me axe here."

Either Gloin or his wife, it was hard to tell who was behind that luxuriant beard, stepped up to take the axe. Unshed tears glistened in the hardy eyes, but they only nodded once, firmly, as they took the axe and stepped back.

"Right. Um. Volunteers?"

None stepped forward. Eomer or Faramir might have for Eowyn if it had been allowed, but, alas, it wasn't. Plenty of dwarves were eager to fight, but their code would not allow them to steal Gimli's chance for glory.

This was their company then. Mayhap this time they might bring one back.


	11. District 2: Peter and the Starcatcher

**Author's Note: Of all the worlds I raided in search of players for the Games, this is almost certainly the least well known, so I thought I'd include a brief explanation for those unfamiliar with it. Peter and the Starcatchers is an adaptation of Peter Pan that explores the origins of Peter, Hook, Tink, and the Lost Boys. Among other changes, pixie dust is replaced with stardust, a rare and precious substance that can transform fish into mermaids, birds into pixies, and boys into flying immortals. Starcatchers try to keep it out of the wrong hands by putting it in gold containers like lockets. Molly Aster is Peter's initial love interest (before he gains his powers), but since he's forever a boy, she moves on and marries George Darling. They have three children that you might have heard of . . . . That's not all there is to it by a long shot, but it should be enough to get you through the chapter if you don't feel like hunting the series up and giving it a read.**

For a district whose specialty was masonry, District 2's orphanage was in terrible shape.

Not that Peter Pan knew much about architecture. He was just personally of the opinion that ceilings should leak in only one or two places, not over twenty, and that none of those leaks should be directly over his bed.

He was also of the opinion that Camara Rundoon should stop lecturing them and just get on with the reaping. His heart was about to beat out of his chest.

Molly Aster smiled at him from her place in the girl's section. That didn't help his heartbeat at all, but he tried to look at ease to impress her.

Tubby Ted elbowed him. Peter elbowed him right back. It was none of Ted's business if Peter wanted to smile at Molly.

Prentiss snickered, but the sound cut off abruptly as Camara's electric blue, clawlike fingernails descended into the girls' bowl. Tink caught on to Peter's nervousness even from his pocket and chimed curiously.

Peter put a hand on his pocket to quiet her. The last thing they needed was President Snow getting his hands on some stardust.

"Savannah Moorless."

Don't do it, Molly, don't do it, don't do it -

But she was an eighteen year old starcatcher, trained to do it, so she stepped forward and volunteered.

Peter was still cursing her when the claws descended again. "James Nunson."

The tiny twelve year old went white as a sheet. Tears trembled in his too big eyes. He stumbled forward.

I won't do it, Peter thought fiercely. I won't, I won't, I don't care what they say, Molly's got the locket, she can share with him if she wants to. I won't.

But his traitorous feet, feet that would never grow one inch bigger, feet that could fly at will, feet that were maybe, after all these centuries, just a little tired of all that flying, and not growing, and watching as everyone else did, and the world changed and the Wendys died - because that wasn't the original Molly, oh, no - well, those feet were already making their way to the stage, with the help of his traitorous tongue.


	12. District 1: Artemis Fowl

Artemis Fowl was perhaps the only boy in District 1 not worried about the reaping. He was, after all, one of the few who had not trained as a Career. Artemis Fowl Sr. had taken one look at his frail yet brilliant son and decided he would be better used as a district leader sometime in the future than as cannon fodder in the Games. Artemis couldn't agree more.

"How's the reaping going, Mud Boy?" Holly buzzed through the tiny earpiece he'd just put in.

He smiled. For instance, he'd already done a great deal of good serving as an ambassador to the faerie folk. With a little more work, he might be able to persuade them to join in a rebellion against the Capital. After that, the other districts should fall in like dominos, if his plans came to fruition. This year's crop of tributes had been carefully manufactured. No one in the Capital suspected that a mere thirteen year old boy from District 1 could tamper with their precious reaping. Speaking of, "It's as boring as usual. How did events transpire in the other districts?"

"Foaly said your plan worked. He sounded kind of disgruntled about it."

Artemis smile widened. "Good. It's about time those with gifts revealed themselves. After this year's Games, the districts won't have any choice but to rebel."

"Be careful, Artemis," the elf warned. "Don't get so caught up in your plans that you forget the people involved."

"Don't worry, Holly. I'm a changed man."

She snorted. "Hey, they're calling the mudgirl tribute. Don't tell me it's . . . Minerva Paradizo. Isn't that the girl you - "

"Thank you, Holly, that's quite enough," he interrupted. "Anyway, watch."

Juliet Butler lunged forward to volunteer. Not from personal loyalty, but out of a desire to follow in her brother's footsteps. Juliet was a Career to the core.

"Huh. Juliet. She's pretty good, isn't she?"

"The best."

"She'd better be, with the competition you've set up for her. She does know about that, right?"

"Of course." For once, he wasn't lying. Butler would never have forgiven him if he'd let Juliet go into danger blind. "Now for the male."

"Artemis Fowl."

Artemis twitched in surprise, but he didn't bother moving. Sure enough, a Career was already volunteering.

"Niall DeMencha," Holly said. "Well, that's good. I doubt you would have liked it if you'd been thrown head first into that soup you've cooked up."

Artemis leaned back. "Of course not, Holly. I can manipulate events much better from out here."


	13. District 13: Star Wars

The Peacekeepers filed out into District 13. Obi-Wan Kenobi was waiting for them. "This is not the district you're looking for," he said, waving his hand.

The Head Peacekeeper turned around. "Sorry, men. We've landed in the wrong district. Get back in the hovercraft."

Luke walked up behind him and watched as it flew away. "It must be fun to fly one of those."

"Don't even think about it."

"I won't. Dad says it's my shift to turn away Peacekeepers. Oh, and you're invited to dinner. Again."

"Padme's cooking, not Leia, right?"

"After the fiasco with the lightsaber and the turkey? Leia's not even allowed into the kitchen."

"Excellent. I'll go tell Anakin I'll be there." Satisfied that the youngest Skywalker had things well in hand, Obi-Wan walked away.


	14. Train Rides (Part 1)

**12**

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table. Mary sat across from him, knuckles white and face pale. She was probably going into shock.

John would say something. Something comforting.

"Fifteen percent of tributes die without knowing what hit them," he offered.

Mary turned a bit green. "Excuse me," she squeaked and ran out of the room.

Sherlock frowned. That hadn't gone as planned.

Irene Adler, 12's only Victor, strolled into the dining car and examined the food laid out on the table. She was three years Sherlock's senior and . . . Attractive, he supposed.

Clothes imported from the Capital. Earrings of low quality, probably of sentimental value. Knife hidden in belt - old habit, probably left over from the Games. Shadows under eyes, expertly concealed with makeup, also imported.

She smiled at him. "Done taking my measure?"

He shrugged.

The smile widened. "Good. Let's have dinner."

 **11**

Merlin paced in the sleeping car that had been provided for Arthur. He hadn't dared go to supper with the others. He didn't want the Capital's people to know he was here. For that matter, he didn't want Morgana to know he was here. She'd regained her memories. They had enough problems without fireballs crashing the train.

Even if she had still been an innocent, Arthur would have had to be his priority. The prophecy had said that Arthur would be key to bringing down the Capital. That had to come before anything else.

He just wished he'd had time to grab his spell book before he snuck onto the train. He'd need all the help he could get to pull this off without attracting any attention.

He wondered if Lancelot had delivered his messages to his mother and Gaius yet.

He wondered if they could ever forgive him.

 **10**

Ivi twittered around the room, her ridiculous boa still trailing behind her. "Well, this will certainly be an interesting year. It was unbelievable how many volunteers we had!"

Natasha had seen the tapes. Unbelievable was definitely the word for it. For herself she would have just relished the challenge, but with Clint here it was a different story. He was good, but she hadn't liked the look of some of their competition.

"It was so romantic seeing you two - "

Natasha looked up at her. "If you say another word," she said calmly, "I will strangle you with your own boa."

Ivi's hand drifted towards her neck. "Well, I - I'll just go see how dinner's coming, shall I?" She hurried out of the room.

Fury leaned forward from where he'd been sitting almost unnoticed in the corner. "Rage is good. Useful. But you need to be more careful with it if you want sponsors."

"I can handle it."

He studied her. "Do that. Where's Barton?"

A sharp jolt of irrational panic went through her. It didn't show. "I'll go find him."

She slid through the velvet cushioned corridors as quietly as a cat. She stopped outside Clint's door.

"Clint?"

His door slid open. His blond hair was mussed and his eyes were red rimmed. "Hey, Nat. You ok?"

She leaned back against the steel of the doorframe. "You kissed me on national television. Why?"

He shrugged. "Bucket list."

"Kissing a girl on national television was on your bucket list?"

"No!" He looked away. "Kissing you was on there. I just thought that might be my last chance." He sneaked a peek at her. "And I thought there was a lower chance you would hit me if I did it in public." He sighed. "You're mad, aren't you?"

"Maybe." She leaned in. He smelled like old leather. Like home. She hesitated for a moment more before tilting her head up ever so slightly and kissing him. "Maybe not." She smiled at him and turned to go. "Fury wants to see you."

"Nat, wait!" Clint fumbled in his pocket. "I was going to give this to you tonight once we knew we were safe. That didn't really work out, but I thought maybe as a token . . . " He held out his hand. An arrow pendant hung at the end of a short fine chain.

She took the necklace from him carefully. "It's beautiful." She slipped it over her neck. "Thank you."

He grinned at her. "Tell Fury I'll be there in a minute."

"All right. And Clint?" She grabbed his arm. "I'll get you home. Don't worry, all right?"

He frowned. "How 'bout I get you home instead?"

Natasha laughed. At least he'd kept his sense of humor. "Just promise me you'll have some fun with the victory money. Get Stark to make you some exploding arrows or something." She kissed him one more time, just a quick peck, and went away, still laughing.

 **9**

Sirius slumped against the back of the chair. The last time Tonks had seen his eyes that dark and hopeless had been when James and Lily had died.

Lupin looked just as haggard. Today had aged both of them, and they were already old before their time.

Sirius picked up a punch glass and turned it over in his hands. "What did we do wrong? WHAT!" He hurled the glass at the wall. Tonks' hair flared yellow as it shattered. "Must have been something," he growled, getting to his feet. "First Regulus." He slammed his fist into the wall. "Then Peter," thump, "James," thump, "Lily," thump, "And now Harry!" He kicked the wall. The light fixtures exploded in a shower of sparks.

They stood in darkness for a moment. The only noises were Sirius's deep breaths that were sounding more and more like sobs.

"Lumos," Lupin said tiredly. Dull light spread throughout the compartment. Sirius was leaning against the wall with a hand over his eyes.

Tonks twisted the engagement ring on her finger and looked over at Lupin. He shook his head, defeated.

Right. So it was up to her then. "Harry's not dead yet. We can pull him through. No one's better at getting sponsors than you two."

"For all the good it does," Lupin said bitterly. "We haven't had a victor since you came through."

She glared at him. "So you're just going to give up?" she demanded. "You look like you're at the funeral already!"

Sirius shook himself. "No, she's right. This isn't over yet. In fact - the cloak."

Lupin leaped up. "You brought it with you?"

"Every year. Normally use it to sneak past the crowds, but it's Harry's by right."

"It'll look strange - "

"What's Oblivious Maximus for, anyway? Come on." He hurried out of the carriage.

Lupin paused for a moment. "Thank you," he told Tonks, touching her shoulder for a moment. She stole a kiss as he walked by.

The forced levity felt brittle though. Something had occurred to her. She was the sole surviving female victor for nine which meant she was the only choice for Luna's mentor. It would be her job to do everything she could to keep that odd, brave, wonderful girl alive.

She just wasn't sure Remus could ever forgive her if she managed it.

Harry watched Luna as she pieced together a dreamcatcher from scraps of fabric she'd cut from the fancy Capital clothes in the drawer. She was braiding long strips together to hang off the central web.

"There. Would you like one, Harry? It might help keep the nargles off."

"I'm good, thanks." He watched as she hung it on her wall.

"You seem frightened."

Harry shrugged. "Nervous. Aren't you? We could be dead in a week."

"Oh, no. Dying's nothing to be afraid of, Harry. They're all waiting for us you know." She sat next to him on the bed and stared dreamily at the black gauze of her dreamcatcher as the air from the vents caught it. "They're just on the other side of the veil."

"What veil?"

"You'll see." She cocked her head. "I think dinner's probably ready now, don't you? I tried talking to the cooks earlier. They're not as nice as the house elves."

Bemused, Harry followed her out, wondering, among other things, what on earth a house elf might be.


	15. Train Rides (Part 2)

**8**

Leah's nose was on fire with the scent of the leech, and her skin prickled with the urge to change forms. All her instincts were screaming that there was a leech, right there, just a table's width away from her, and she needed to run, to change, to fight, to do whatever it took to survive the encounter.

She passed the rolls to the leech without comment.

At least the food was spectacular. She'd piled her plate high with everything she could get her hands on. It was time to answer the age old question: could a werewolf ever reach that mythical stat of "full"? If so, then tonight was going to be the night to achieve it.

Billy encouraged her. He'd lost the last of his children to the Games last year at around the same time she'd lost her father. In his own quiet way, he'd done his best to fill the gap in her family. He was enjoying the meal almost as much as she was. He hadn't transformed since the accident that had broken his back and killed his wife, but the wolf's appetite never really faded.

The leech, she noted smugly, wasn't having nearly as much fun. He was eating as little as possible, only choking down a few bites when the escort - what was her name again? - pressed him.

"Rolls?" Leah asked sweetly. "You should really try one."

He rolled his eyes at her but took the offered basket. The escort glared at her.

What did I - oh. Oh, come on! Don't tell me your flirting with him, lady! What, you think I'm competing with you or something? As if!

The woman was definitely flirting. The leech was obviously uncomfortable.

He's like ten times older than her! And a vampire! And married, if that meant anything to the Capital freaks.

He shot her a frustrated look. Help? he mouthed.

Right. He was a mind reader. Huh. This could be fun.

She sat back in her chair and started singing "I Know a Song That Gets on Everybody's Nerves" at the top of her mental lungs.

 **7**

Zizi flitted around the room like an overgrown butterfly. "Eat! Eat! You need to get your strength up if you're going to stand a chance."

Halt gave her a look of such intense dislike Will was surprised he hadn't already gone for his throwing knife. He was fingering the one by his plate pretty meaningfully, though.

Cassandra was slumped in her chair, still pale and silent with disbelief that this was actually happening. Will stared out the window at the endless blur of green. He wanted to be out there in the trees. How far did the forest stretch? What would it be like to race Tug through it without ever having to turn around and come back?

He could almost see it. The old, run down cabin Halt had shown him restored to its former glory, Tug and Abelard in the back. He'd never leave the woods if it could be like that.

Well, maybe sometimes, he amended quickly, thinking of Alyss.

She'd come to see him in the time they allotted for goodbyes. He'd asked her to apologize to Horace for him. She'd said he would tell him himself. Then she'd given him a kiss for luck.

Gilan and Crowley had come later, but, Will reflected, it would have hard for anyone to beat Alyss for a goodbye.

He had not gotten to say goodbye to Tug. His smile faded. "What about Tug?"

Halt's eyebrows shot together into a formidable line. "What about Tug?"

"That's what I just asked," Will said with exaggerated patience, but his lips twitched. He remembered Horace once having a similar conversation with Halt.

Halt apparently did too, because he changed tactics quickly. "Gilan promised to look after him for now."

Will took 'now' to be the duration of the Games. "And after?"

"You will," Halt said firmly.

"But what if - "

Halt looked at him grimly. "You will," he repeated.

"What about me?" Cassandra asked quietly.

Zizi tsked impatiently. "He's a mentor. He won't play favorites, will you, Halt?"

Halt looked at her darkly for a moment. "With no hesitation and extreme prejudice." He strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Zizi gasped. "Of all the nerve! Leaving a tribute to her own devices!"

Cassandra set her chin stubbornly. Adversity had brought some color back to her cheeks. "Like I would need his help anyways."

Will shook his head. "You'll need sponsors. I'll go talk to him. He's not thinking straight."

He caught up with Halt in the final train car. He was staring out the windows at the landscape that rushed away from them in a depressing blur of greens and grays.

"Did I ever tell you how your father died?"

Will approached him cautiously. "You said he was killed in an uprising against the Peacekeepers. You said he died like a hero."

Halt didn't look at him. He just kept staring out the window. "It was the third day of the riots. They were in Justice Plaza. I was leading a rush at them through a side alley. We were supposed to attack from behind while everyone else came at them from the front."

"Halt, maybe this isn't the best time - "

Halt didn't seem to hear him. "We caught them by surprise. I fought my way in. Knives aren't much good against blasters, but if you can get close . . . I never even saw the one that slipped behind me. I would have died right there if your father hadn't gotten him for me.

"We fought our way to a clear spot. Shook hands and introduced ourselves. His name was Daniel. We took a breather for a moment, then we threw ourselves back in."

Halt shook his head. "I can't even begin to describe what it was like. Everyone was shouting. There was blood everywhere. That frontal attack had never come. The Rangers were scattered. Some of us were shooting from the buildings, but they were being picked off one by one. Our ranks were devastated that day. I was right there in the thick of things when the Peacekeepers' reinforcements started pouring in. There was no fighting that many, but we kept trying.

"Then I fell and your father stepped in to defend me. He fought like a berserker. He took five more with him before he fell. He landed right on top of me. Probably saved my life again. I fell unconscious and was overlooked in the cleanup. They probably assumed I was dead too. When I finally woke up, I went looking. Found out he'd had a wife. Found out about you." He shook his head. "They'd bombed the district. Your whole street was rubble. Somehow you survived it. You were the only one that had. This tiny little baby, screaming his lungs off in the ashes of his home."

"So you took me in to the Rangers," Will said quietly.

Half a smile appeared on Halt's lips. "Best decision I ever made. You're the best to come through in years. You saved my life last year when those monsters came in from the forest." The rest of it - that for all intents and purposes Will was the son Halt had never had - hung unspoken between them. Both knew it without it needing to be said.

"I'm not going to lose you, Will," Halt said quietly. "No matter what I have to do." Snow knew it too. Will was the only leverage the president had ever been able to find to use against him. Halt had done as he'd been told. He'd behaved. There had been no more riots in District 7.

"So you're just going to throw Cassandra to the dogs then?"

Halt finally looked at him. "I can only get one of you out alive. You know that. I'm making it my business to make sure it's you."

Will's face was pale with anger. "Guess I'll have to make it mine that Cassandra does then. Somebody has to." He stalked out of the train car.

Halt watched him go, heart aching. He'd been so careful. He'd kept to himself for years and kept what few friendships he had intensely private. He hadn't proposed to Pauline, putting her safety over his heart. He had been careful, but Snow had found his weakness all the same. And now he had broken their deal.

There hadn't been riots in District 7 for fifteen years. If Will didn't make it out of the Games alive, then it might be time to break that streak.

 **6**

Red curled up on the plush velvet seat that was set into the wall. She picked at a plate of desserts left over from dinner, but she wasn't really hungry. She just felt that if she was going to be dead within the month, she deserved as much sugar as she could eat.

Mr. Gold and Baelfire hadn't shown up for dinner. Mr. Gold had ordered food to be brought to his rooms. Red had volunteered to take the plates so that she could get close enough to get a good sniff. She needn't have bothered. The scent of magic was so thick that everything downwind of his compartment was coated with it. If Baelfire wasn't covered with every protective enchantment known to man by the time they reached the Capital, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

She pulled the blanket she'd grabbed from her room tighter around her shoulders and reached listlessly for another piece of chocolate.

Granny marched into the room with a loaded crossbow. Red jumped in her seat.

"Good, you're awake. Well, stop sitting there feeling sorry for yourself, girl. We knew this day was coming. Get up and come with me. I've set up a target range in a compartment they weren't using."

Red stared at her.

Granny smacked her upside the head. "Up, girl, up! We don't have much time, and the bows they give you at the training center are ridiculous. You won't be able to change forms unless you want them to dissect you, so that means you need to brush up on your weapons practice. Get moving!"

"Yes, Granny," she said obediently. She trailed dutifully behind her grandmother, but she looked back longingly at the chocolates as she went.

 **5**

If there was one good thing that had come out of this whole mess, it was the gloves. A careful search of the drawers in her room had led Elsa to discovering a single pair of delicate white silk gloves trimmed in lace. They felt heavenly compared to her old ones.

Sera was chatting brightly with the three victors District 5 could boast. Oaken would be Hans' mentor, and Gothel would be Elsa's. Flynn was just along for the ride - or possibly the ladies.

Hans was keeping up a constant stream of charming chatter. Elsa picked at her food and nodded politely whenever he paused.

She smiled at him as he leaned closer.

Go away, go away, go away, she chanted to herself. I don't need your help. I don't need your smiles. I don't need your compliments. I don't need you to be charming. In a month you will be dead. I will kill you if I have to. Go away and leave me in peace. I don't need to like you. I just need to win this for Anna's sake.

An image of that charming smile locked in death's mocking rictus danced in front of her. She squeezed the fork harder. Frost danced along its stem.

She shoved her chair back. "Excuse me." She hurried back to her bedroom and leaned against the door when it slid closed.

She had to control the curse. Thousands of people would be watching her. One slip up and it would be all over. She couldn't excuse herself from the Games when she felt herself slipping.

She might not even have gloves.

Maybe the arena would look like the one three years ago. People would be less likely to notice her curse in a world already frozen.

Then again, it might be a desert.

Don't cry, she commanded herself. Don't cry. Don't feel. Be ice. Be cold. Be hard.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor and stopped outside her door. "Elsa?"

Ice spread beneath her feet. Go away, she pleaded silently. The voice hadn't been Hans' though. What was Flynn doing here?

From the sound of it, making himself comfortable. He'd sat down on the other side of the door.

"You all right?"

"Go away." What if the ice spread through the door?

"Now that's no fair," he complained. "How am I supposed to argue with you through a closed door? You're blocking my most potent weapon!"

"What?" What on earth was he talking about?

"My smolder. If the Capital could bottle it, they'd have a weapon of mass destruction on their hands."

They really would if they found out about her curse. She backed away from the door.

He was quiet for a long moment. "That was brave, what you did today," he finally said. His voice had lost most of its cockiness. He was quieter. More genuine. "Though I must admit, mentoring your sister would have been interesting."

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be advising Hans?"

He snorted. "First rule of the Games: there is no such thing as 'should'. Only 'is'. For instance, you 'should' be eating supper. If you can't handle the stress of boys who don't know when to quit, you can't handle the Games. But since you locking yourself in your room is what is, let's start there."

"Please just go away."

"Come on, princess - "

"Don't call me that." My father called me that.

"Elsa, then. Just tell me one thing and I'll go. Why'd you leave?"

She sighed. "I don't want to like him, all right? He's just another obstacle between me and home. I started thinking about killing him, and I - I just wasn't hungry anymore, all right?"

She could hear him getting to his feet on the other side. "That's a valid point," he said quietly. "If I might make a suggestion? Don't ally with him. He's the sort where the charm's just a mask. You don't want to know what's underneath."

"How do you know?"

He sighed. "Because I was that sort. Fooled my district partner into thinking I was a good man. Almost fooled myself into thinking it. But when push came to shove - well, the fact that she's not here tells its own story, doesn't it? She died because of me." His voice cracked a little. "You don't ever forget. You'll remember every last face in your dreams. Especially someone like her's."

She frowned. Her parents had died the year of his Games. She didn't remember them very well.

"What was her name?"

He paused. "Rapunzel." She could hear a world of regret in that word. "Goodnight, Elsa. And good odds."

"Goodnight Flynn." She only whispered the words, but she knew he heard.


	16. Train Rides (Part Three)

**4**

District 4 had more than its share of Victors, but what could you expect from the descendants of the old pirate lords? The "pirate" part of that story was apparently a lot more hereditary than the reformed bit. There were no longer any ships to steal, but that peculiar blend of pragmatic cowardice, reckless courage, and pure scalawag flair was apparently a winning combination when it came to the Games.

Usually, the noise in the train was deafening as the Victors took their chance to drink, talk, and fight, all of which were activities they firmly believed should be done as boisterously and as often as possible. This time, however, the party atmosphere had been dampened. Shouts were replaced by disturbed whispers in corners by Victors with nervously shifting eyes. Drinks were downed with more grimness than usual, and the fights were of a different nature entirely. The female Victors were carefully volunteering one another for the "honor" of mentoring Calypso.

Even depressed and gloomy, there was something impressive about them. Ching, Barbossa, Amand, Jocard, Bootstrap Bill, and his son, Will Turner, the youngest victor ever, and the beautiful Esmeralda, not to mention Jack's grandmother. If Jack won, the Sparrow family would go down in Games history as the first to have a winner in three consecutive generations. Any other year it would have been the talk of the dining car. This year, no one mentioned it. No one thought Jack would be winning.

Except, perhaps, Jack.

He knelt in the crawlspace above the dining car and peered through the vent at the dismal huddles of flamboyantly dressed Victors. Tia Dolma was nowhere in sight.

A thin wire appeared out of the vent and began to drop down towards the punch bowl. A thin bead of liquid hovered at it's bottom. Jack unwound it slowly. Carefully, carefully . . .

It was in! Brilliant. Jack sat back and waited.

Barbossa's monkey scampered along the table and stopped by the punch bowl. He chattered curiously and then dabbed at it with his tongue.

The monkey shrieked and began rocketing around the room, hopping from hat to hat. Victors swore and swung at him. He leaped to Grandmama, circling her shoulders before blasting off to the chandelier, shrieking all the while. The more traditional fights and shouts erupted as they chased after the creature and shouted recriminations at Barbossa.

Jack covered his mouth to muffle his laughter.

 **3**

Gimli weaved around the buffet table for thirds, loading up a plate with drumsticks and his cup with cider. Gandalf encouraged him to keep his plate full in the hopes that it would keep his mouth full, and, thus, closed. Dwarves were not known for their discretion.

Eowyn kept him talking the rest of the time. She had a lovely laugh, and she used it often when Gimli got going on one of his stories. He wasn't a bad storyteller at all, Gandalf admitted. He just wasn't quite ready for the Capital to hear about orcs and dragons.

Galadriel listened to both Gimli and Gandalf's attempts to restrain him with equal amusement.

"Perhaps we should discuss your strategies," Gandalf suggested.

"Charge!" Gimli said through a mouthful of chicken, brandishing his knife. "Hack them off at the knees, then finish 'em off!"

"We fight at the Cornucopia, then retreat to a defensible position. If we win enough supplies, we can hold out while the others butcher each other," Eowyn said.

"You intend to ally, then?" Galadriel asked.

Gimli looked as if he had never considered the possibility that they wouldn't. "Aye."

"And if you are the final two?"

"Then we shall fight with honor for the treasure hoard!"

The Dwarfish outlook on life at least had the advantage of simplicity. They were stubborn, fierce, and sometimes greedy, but they were also honorable, loyal, and brave to a fault. Eowyn had a reasonably steady head and a taste for adventure. They should work well together.

Last year it had been hobbits. They had thrown the betting in the Capital completely off. Most had bet on them dying on the first day. Gandalf had known better. The Capital hadn't realized just how hard it is to find a hobbit who doesn't want to be found. For most of the Games, even the Capital's cameras had trouble finding them. When they had been forced to fight, they had been underestimated by their opponents, a fatal mistake. They had made it all the way to the final four.

Then they had lost them.

 _Gandalf_.

He pulled in his wondering thoughts and looked at the two brave tributes before him. Would either of them make the return trip?

Then Gimli climbed on the table and began singing a dwarfish war song, and Gandalf decided it would be easier to send the escort to sleep than to try and stop him.

 **2**

Tink was not happy. Not only was her Peter spending far too much time with that Molly cow again, someone new was trying steal her Peter as well. Camara Rundoon. Her bell like voice spit the name out like a curse.

The wall of fabric to her left pressed inward. Peter was patting his pocket to silence her.

Tink lit up the fabric with indignantly. She would not be silent! She buzzed out of the pocket and zipped behind Peter's back before he could see her and put her back in his pocket.

There they were, the two big yappy cows. Tink sniffed. What Peter saw in such ugly things, she was sure she didn't know.

Molly, she was pleased to see, was leaving. That just left the cow from the Capital.

Tink buzzed up behind her and took two big fistfuls of the cow's hair and yanked. The hair was stiff with something she'd never felt before, but it came off in brittle bunches the color of blood.

The woman yelped. Tink kicked her in the head once for good measure and flew back to Peter's pocket, laughing all the way.

 **1**

Juliet did yet another one armed push-up as Butler drilled her on the list of tributes Master Artemis had hacked, schemed, and manipulated to get into the Games. There had been one or two upsets. Master Artemis had assumed Horace would volunteer for Will. Not even he had been able to predict Horace's "sudden fainting fit". He'd wanted Merlin, not Arthur, and he was surprised that Harry was actually going in, but apparently he could work with all the changes.

Juliet wondered for the hundredth time how he'd convinced the Lower Elements Police to surrender the massive amounts of data he'd needed to plan this. The fairies were rarely this helpful. Of course, the files the Capital had on potential tributes that he'd hacked into had helped.

"District 5," Butler barked.

"Elsa Arandelle. Opposite of pyrokenesis. Kill from behind. Hans Southson. Sociopath. Don't trust him." Master Artemis was one to talk about that.

"District 12."

"Mary Morstan. She's more dangerous than she looks. Also a sociopath. Sherlock Holmes, genius and sociopath." She frowned. "Why did he pick so many sociopaths?"

Butler ignored her. "District 6."

She sighed and switched arms. "District 6. Girl's a werewolf. Let someone else kill the boy."

"Names."

"Does it matter?"

"Names."

She rolled her eyes. "Little Red Riding Hood and the son of Rumplestiltskin."

He kicked her. She rolled out of the way and glared up at him. "What?"

He looked at her, plainly frustrated. "Your life could depend on this. It's not a joking matter."

"I'm a Butler. I'll be fine." Like you were.

He crouched beside her. "You don't get it." He grabbed her shoulders. "I nearly died in my Games, Juliet. Died. And that was against children. This year there are no children in the Games. Everyone's got an angle. Everyone's got a secret. Your angle is that you already know everybody's secrets." He looked her in they eyes. "I didn't want you to volunteer," he said quietly. "Even knowing may not be enough."

Juliet felt a chill. Her brother was afraid for her. "I'll make you proud," she promised. She wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him for a long moment.

Then she turned it into a headlock.

He twisted free, laughing as they fought one last time.


	17. Chariots

Author's Note: Don't you love my creative chapter titles? I bet you'll never guess what this chapter's about!

Oh. You guessed it. In that case, let me get on to the main point: The Cornucopia approaches.

Some deaths are set in stone. Others are negotiable. Feel free to try and persuade me to save Eowyn or kill Hans off painfully in the comments section.

"No."

Leah's stylist blinked at her. "But - "

"No." It was the same thing she had said when he had told her to undress. It was the same thing she had said when they had tried to cut her hair. And she was going to keep on saying it until this idiotic man realized she'd rather ride the chariot stark naked than in the monstrosity that made even the mannequin look ridiculous.

It was made of a soft, silvery silk, which she could have dealt with. It was sleeveless which, whatever, fine. She could have even dealt with the whole "dress" thing.

She would not, however, wear a costume designed to look like a needle.

A tight hood was pulled around the mannequin's head so that the face poked out where the eye of the needle should be. The dress narrowed, becoming more and more skintight, until around the calves it gave up all together, narrowing to a point in the split skirt somewhere around the ankles.

Her only comfort was that right now some poor stylist was probably trying to put the leech into something equally as ridiculous. A spool of thread, maybe. She snorted. Seeing that would almost make riding in a chariot with him worth it. Almost.

Leah circled the dress like it was a wounded elk. "You can make alterations pretty fast, right? I mean, you'd have to, since you don't know what size the tribute is going to be."

"R-right."

"Great. So here's what you do. Make the hood looser, more the like the one I've got on right now. Add some panels of fabric, really flowing, to the skirt, like - " She grabbed a napkin and pen from the table. She sketched it out quickly. "Like that. Much better, see? And then, to get that district flavor, we can add a sash, really loose, like a thread, and have a really big needle hanging on it to the side, like a sword." She stepped back from the design with satisfaction.

Her stylist's mouth had dropped. She handed him the napkin. "What are you waiting for? Go. Do."

He scurried from the room.

Morgana surveyed the other tributes with a professional eye.

District 1, as usual, were dripping in jewels and frosted gold silks. The girl's hair was in a braid with deadly looking spiked wire woven into it. Pretty and deadly. Morgana approved.

District 2's offerings were dressed in gray with thick embroidery that could have almost been chiseled into it and light, swirling capes that looked like finely ground stone powder falling to the earth. The tributes themselves were well muscled but nothing remarkable, except for the way the boy kept patting his pocket. And the girl - Morgana's eyes narrowed. Was her locket glowing?

The dwarf was decked out in some sort of futuristic techno armor, as was that pale girl, Eowyn. The dwarf must have given his stylist fits with the dramatic alterations. Morgana smiled.

District 4's tributes looked surprisingly at home in romanticized pirate garb. District 5's clothes looked like waterfalls. Six's - well, Morgana wasn't sure how the stylists had managed to make railway themed outfits look tasteful, but they had.

For once, seven wasn't trees. Instead, the girl had been decked out like a wood nymph, complete with faint green highlights to her hair and around her eyes. Morgana was almost jealous, but then, unlike the girl, she wouldn't be dead in a month. The boy was dressed in a similar manner, but it didn't suit him quite as well, and he was obviously uncomfortable.

Eight was leather. Typical, although the confidence with which the tributes wore it wasn't. The stylists for 9 had attached miniature smoke machines to the bottom of otherwise bland gray robes. The boy, Harry, seemed nervous. The girl was dancing in the rising smoke with an odd smile on her face. Had she been drugged with something?

The girl from 10 looked positively smug as she walked past Morgana. There was a faint whiff of something rich and earthy as she did. Odd.

Unlike his district partner, Sherlock had evidently refused to don a coal miner's uniform. Instead he leaned against his chariot in the same clothes he'd been reaped in. His dark eyes were scanning the other tributes. He paused a moment when he got to her. She looked away, unsettled.

Morgana, of course, looked fabulous in a sheath of gold fabric her stylist had said was an abstract representation of a wheat stalk. Arthur was dressed in rich earth tones.

He frowned down at his sleeves. "I think I'm supposed to be dirt. That's rather insulting."

Morgana smiled at him as he helped her into the chariot. "It suits you." After all, you'll be buried beneath it soon enough, dear brother.

The fool took her hand and squeezed it in what he no doubt thought was a reassuring fashion as the chariot pulled out onto the track. Morgana's smile never flickered.

She did, however, look over her shoulder, just once. She could have sworn she had felt someone's breath on her neck.


	18. The Games Behind the Games

The serene elegance of President Snow's office was marred by the persistent beeping of the machine that informed him he had messages. The names of those who had sent them scrolled across the screen in red lettering.

Pendragon, Uther. Ignore.

King, Duncan. Ignore.

West, Kara. He hit the button. His assistant's clear voice began reciting her daily report. "Sir, I have the data you wanted. This year's crop of tributes has been well received by the Capital, but the Districts are already getting restless. I've forwarded the risk assessment reports to you. I would like to take the liberty of recommending you read them as soon as possible.

"I regret to tell you that, as of yet, there's no word on how someone managed to rig the Reapings. There is, however, definitive proof that not all of it could have been managed electronically, so it's premature to assume the perpetrator is from District 3.

"Six of the Districts' mentors have requested meetings. I await your instructions regarding these."

The message ended. President Snow tapped his fingers on the desk as he regarded the bouquet of roses on his desk. One of them was beginning to wilt.

He read through the reports and considered his experts' conclusions. "Unfortunate," he said to himself. "Very unfortunate." Someone was going to pay for this. They were going to pay very dearly and for a very long time. Snow would see to it personally.

The damage had been done. He couldn't send the tributes back. Had only one of them been tagged red in his files, he would have at least been able to rig the Games to take care of the problem, but with this many it was impossible.

The Capital was more fragile than most realized. If not handled very carefully, these Games could be the ruin of it.

He considered his roses for a moment more. Then he hit the button on his comm. "Ms. West. Schedule individual meetings with the mentors who requested them."

As an afterthought, he called his head of security. The mentors had not gotten to where they were by being peaceful, timid people.

"Nimueh." He studied the beauty of her smile for a moment. She'd used it while chopping off bits of a tied down and screaming tribute in her Games. She was a favorite in the Capital. "Are you here to protest your student's entrance to the Games?"

"Come now, Cornelius. Surely you know me better than that." She didn't ask for a chair. He didn't offer her one.

"The nation is not ready for a display of magic," he warned her. "If she becomes obvious, I will have to take measures."

"She'll be discreet," Nimue promised. "That was not what I desired to speak to you of."

"Oh?"

"Emrys is taking an interest in this year's outcome."

Emrys. With all his spies, Emrys remained a ghost. Nimueh would only tell him scraps of prophecy about his power. No one had seen him. No one knew his real name. Yet Emrys kept thwarting him, time and time again.

"Emrys. He's fond of your student?"

Nimue laughed. "Hardly. You mean to say you honestly don't know?"

"It might go better for you if it did not take me long to find out."

She considered him for a moment, then shook her head. "He wishes Arthur Pendragon to be victorious. Why, I cannot say."

"Cannot or will not?"

"He is my kin. One of the very last of my kind. I will not betray him to you."

"You have feuded with him in the past."

"A private matter for our own amusement, and not one that diminishes my regard and respect for him. He could level a city, Cornelius. He might, if you thwart him in this matter."

"You will tell me where I can find him, or there will be consequences."

She laughed again. "I fear him far more than I fear you. I came only to deliver fair warning. You should be thanking me. Farewell." She disappeared, leaving behind a puff of smoke.

President Snow opened the door to allow it to vent out. When he got back to his desk, he made a call.

"Nimueh is forgetting herself. Send her a message soon. Preferably a survivable one."

He checked his watch. He had five minutes before his next meeting. He sent for coffee.

"Worms, Mr. Black. A bowl full of worms." President Snow kept his eyes on the video projection that had been playing since Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin had walked into the room. If there had been a chair, Mr. Black would have lounged in it, invited or not, so he'd had all chairs but his removed. They stood before him like two troublesome schoolboys called to face the headmaster. Mr. Lupin was too used to slights to be much affected. Mr. Black had walked in angry and was getting more so.

President Snow paused the video on the culmination of the spectacle. Miss Hardee's disgusted face was frozen in all its glory as she desperately tried to shake the worms off of her hand.

"Believe it or not, sir, I'm not actually responsible for everything that goes wrong in District 9."

"You must admit that it is certainly in keeping with previous misdemeanors." President Snow sat back in his chair. "It played well in the Capital, however, so I don't suppose any lasting harm was done. You may have even done me a favor." Black had, once again, pierced the illusion that the Capital was untouchable. A great deal of harm had been done. Black didn't need to know it though, and the lie was as much punishment as he could give at the moment. Let him think his work had been for nothing. "I must say that I had thought you'd outgrown these childish pranks. You seemed to lose your taste for them after the tragic loss of Mr. Potter."

Black's face went white, and his hand curled instinctively into a fist. Lupin placed a hand on his shoulder. "Not now," he said in a low voice. Black stepped back reluctantly and let Lupin take point.

Snow flipped open a folder on his desk. "Ah, Mr. Lupin. I trust your preparations for the full moon are complete?"

Lupin smiled faintly. "Sirius is fully prepared to hit me over the head if that's what you mean. I'm afraid the last of the wolfsbane finally gave up the battle against the smog."

"Will that work?"

Lupin shrugged. "We'll know soon enough."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Than the full moon should be very interesting," he said wryly.

President Snow wondered for the sixteenth time why Panem had been cursed with werewolves in not one, but three, districts.

"For every citizen of the Capital who dies that night, two will be executed in your own district. I suggest you do your best to ensure 'interesting' doesn't describe your activities that evening."

Lupin paled. "Understood."

"Good."

"Well, I'm glad someone understands, because I sure don't. We had a deal. You've broken it. Why?" Sirius's dark eyes bored into him. Those eyes had won him a lot of sponsors in his Games. His appeal to most citizens of the Capital hadn't declined with the years. He was popular for his good looks and for the tantalizing hints of rebellion he never managed to entirely keep a lid on. Even all the Capital's efforts combined could only do so much to keep him in line. Harry was the best leverage they had.

And now some fool had gone and threatened that leverage.

"The reaping is a game of odds, Mr. Black," he said calmly. "Young Mr. Potter lost. No plots. No conspiracies. Just bad odds."

"Bad odds," Black repeated. "Bad odds. Allow me to give you some better ones." He leaned forward across the desk. "There's a one in twenty-four chance I won't be burning down the Capital." He spun on his heels and began to walk out.

"Be very careful, Mr. Black. You imagine you have nothing left to lose. I would be very certain that was true before I began to say such things."

Black paused for a moment. Snow's vase started shaking as if it were experiencing its own personal earthquake.

"Mr. Black," he said sharply.

It shook harder.

Lupin whispered something harshly to his friend. The vase steadied. Dead petals drifted down to the plush red carpet.

"Happy Hunger Games, gentlemen."

Lupin's smile was a touch too canine. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

The door clicked shut behind them. Repeated thumps came from the hallway outside. He made a mental note to have the staff check the wall for new dents.

The odds would be no one's friend this year.

Halt didn't so much enter Snow's office as appear in it. Snow never heard the door. He just looked up to see if more coffee had come yet, and there he was.

"Mr. O'Carrick."

"President Snow."

"How are the Rangers?"

"Restless." Mr. O'Carrick stood in the corner with the hood of his jacket shadowing his face. It was difficult to read his expression.

"Perhaps some more monsters will come liven things up for you."

"They already did. Carted off another one of our own. I went after him."

"Were you able to save him?"

"You'll be the first to know if I do."

"I don't like your tone, Mr. O'Carrick."

He shrugged. "I didn't like your coffee. Call it square." He disappeared out the door.

There was no question about it. The curse was fading.

He made two calls. The first was to the same people who he'd asked to deal with Nimueh. He told them he had three names to add to the list.

The second was to his assistant. He ordered more coffee and told her that while she was at it, she could move up the appointment with Mr. Gold.

President Snow and Mr. Gold understood each other. There were secrets even things as respectable as old men's roses and canes couldn't hide, and blood was one of them.

Mr. Gold examined the flowers in the vase. He held up the wilted one and studied it with an artisan's eye.

"Skillful work," he commented. "Whoever did you go to for it?"

President Snow waved his hand. "One of my predecessors, not I. He made a bargain with some of your kind."

Mr. Gold looked up sharply. "I am the only one of my kind."

"If you say so. What can you tell me about it?"

Mr. Gold was still frowning over the unknown practitioners. "What are you prepared to give me?"

"A bargain? For a simple bit of knowledge?"

Mr. Gold laughed softly. "There's nothing simple about knowledge. It's the most dangerous thing there is, and, therefore, expensive."

"What do you want?"

Mr. Gold smiled. "There's a rather particular gold pot in your vaults. Article 517. I want it."

President Snow raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"A storage container, nothing more. It has a bit of . . . magic in it. It can hold much more than you'd think. Bring it to me now, and I'll tell you all I can about the condition of the curse."

President Snow considered for a moment, then called his assistant. "It's on its way."

"Good." He held up the dying rose. "The curse was powerful. Very powerful."

"Was?"

He twirled the rose. Dead petals drifted to the carpet. "It's breaking."

"Why?"

Mr. Gold smiled. "True love can break any curse. And you've just forced the curse to go in direct conflict with quite a bit of it. The fact that it's still holding up at all is remarkable."

"Teenagers finding true love?"

"Love doesn't have to be romantic to be real. The bond between sisters, friends, brothers . . . Between a father and a son. What could be stronger?"

He saw where this was going and cut him off. "How do I stop it?"

Gold shrugged. "Call off the Games."

"I can't."

"Then I'm afraid I cannot help you. You'll have to go back to the source and make another bargain." There was a knock on the door. Miss West came in and handed Gold the container. She slipped out as he cradled it more carefully in his arms. "A bargain is a beautiful thing, is it not? The very foundation of civilization. They keep me sane. Keep the darkness my own curse brings at bay. When someone breaks one, I get very angry. The . . . darker aspects of me begin to take over. Bae helps me to restrain myself when he can." He looked at President Snow. "Our bargain remains unbroken. Keep it that way." He walked out of the office with his prize.

President Snow's hands were shaking a bit as he sat down. Long ago, the Dark One had sworn to stay out of each president's way so long as they stayed out of his. They had specifically sworn not to harm his son.

The moment Baelfire got so much as a scratch in the arena, the deal was off.

There were rumors of a "bell" of some sort his predecessors had acquired as insurance. Perhaps he should seek it out.

The curse was breaking. The Capital was vulnerable. The Districts were restless. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

Priorities. He called up Miss West. "Cancel my appointment with Captain Sparrow. Block all but the most important calls."

"Done." She hesitated. "There's a new one just in. It's from your granddaughter. Should I tell her to call back - "

He smiled. "I can make time for this."

A sweet voice came on the line. "Happy birthday, Grandpa!"

"Happy birthday, sweet."

Mr. Gold stepped into his room. Bae leaped up. "Is that - "

A fierce smile flashed across his face. "Yes." He knelt on the floor and set the jar down as gently as if it were made of glass. Almost reverently, he lifted off the top.

Colored smoke writhed above the jar. Slowly, it formed into a silhouette, then solidified.

The woman spun to face Mr. Gold.


	19. Prepare to Die

"Look at that guy," Merlin whispered as Arthur laid down the sword he'd been destroying the instructor with.

"What guy?" Arthur's head turned automatically toward the voice. He still wasn't used to the invisibility spell Marlin had cast on himself. For that matter, he still wasn't used to Merlin having magic.

"Shh. The one I'm pointing at."

Arthur resisted the urge to smack him. "Oh, sorry, let me just put on my special glasses that let me see through invisibility spells - "

"Oh. Right." Merlin sounded embarrassed. "The guy from 7. Will Treaty. He and Barton are having a bit of a contest."

Arthur glanced over at the archery station. Clint was hitting bullseye after bullseye. Will was . . . not.

"Not very impressive," he said, looking back towards the sword rack. "You need to get out more."

"You're looking at it wrong. Go that way."

Arthur sighed and edged the way he'd been pushed. Then he raised his eyebrows, impressed.

Barton had made bullseyes.

Will had spelled out the word "Hi!", complete with exclamation mark. His quiver was empty.

Barton still had two arrows left to shoot.

The two shook hands and laughed over something Will had said. Their district partners came over to congratulate them. Natasha was examining the shooting with a professional eye. The blond from 7 was laughing and dragging Will over to the next station. She was carrying a sling she must have dug up from somewhere.

"He's good. They both are."

"I saw Will over at the survival booths earlier. He aced the edible plants test, and I think those snares he made could catch something a lot bigger than rabbits. We're going to have to be careful of him."

"'We?' You're not the one going into the arena."

"Don't be stupid, of course I am. How else am I supposed to protect you?"

"What makes you think I need protecting?" he hissed.

"Have you looked at your opponents recently?"

Arthur looked around the room and reluctantly had to admit this wasn't the usual group of lightweights. Juliet Butler from One was wrestling with an instructor twice her size - and winning. The dwarf was dueling with five holographic opponents and proving just how effective it was to cut off your attacker's knees with an axe. Jack Sparrow was moving through the obstacle course like a monkey and had breath to spare for a running commentary. His instincts started screaming at him if he even looked at the tributes from eight, and Natasha from ten was just as deadly as her partner. Even twelve . . . Morgana was busy chatting up the Holmes kid, and she wouldn't bother with anyone she didn't think was important.

"Yeah, I've looked," he said quietly. _What I don't understand is why you'd bother._ Why was Merlin here? Why had he cared so much that he'd left the safety of the district to actually follow him into the arena? There weren't even words for something like that. And the expression he got sometimes . . . Hans had been flirting with the girl from his district despite her stated lack of interest and clear discomfort. Arthur had done the chivalrous thing and intervened. Hans had responded with a perfectly friendly remark that could, nonetheless, be construed as a threat if viewed in a certain light. Arthur had shrugged it off.

Merlin had muttered something in the moment that immediately preceded Hans falling headlong down some stairs. When they got to the privacy of the penthouse, Merlin had said, in perfect seriousness, that it was a shame Hans had survived it, but that he could make sure he didn't the next time.

At times, he was the same annoyingly irreplaceable idiot he'd always been. But ever since the Reaping, Arthur had started glimpsing a frightening intensity as well.

Merlin's thoughts had apparently been elsewhere. "It's not just the physical stuff. I can handle that. It's the atmosphere. There's so much suppressed magic in here I'm practically choking on it. Can't you feel it?"

"No - " Arthur froze. Merlin flickered into view for half a second before disappearing again.

"Merlin!" He scanned the room frantically. No one seemed to have noticed.

"Sorry," Merlin panted. "This is harder than it looks."

"Ha, ha. Get out of here before someone sees you!"

"Right."

Arthur waited a few seconds. "Merlin?"

No answer. He was gone. Good. Now what?

Morgana didn't seem to need any help. He might as well talk to Will. He could be a useful ally.

He walked over to where Will was throwing knives at practice dummies. He was just as skilled here as he'd been with the archery.

"Impressive. Have you tried out the swords yet?"

Will grinned at him and swiped the hair out of his eyes. "Not really my area. Horace would have loved them though."

"Horace?"

"A friend from back home. He tried to volunteer for me."

Arthur frowned. "I didn't think you could turn a volunteer down."

Will's grin broadened. "You can't. So I knocked him out with my strikers before he could get all the words out. The Peacekeepers confiscated them, unfortunately."

Arthur leaned against the table. "Not for your competition."

"Oh, they're strictly nonlethal," Will assured him. "You were pretty impressive yourself by the way. It was good of you to volunteer for that kid. He wouldn't have lasted a minute in the arena."

 _You might be surprised._ Arthur glanced at Morgana. "I had other reasons as well."

Will looked at her and shook his head. "That must be terrible for your parents to have both of you in here."

Arthur didn't feel like telling him that his mother was dead. "Yours can't be too happy either."

Will shrugged and hurled another knife at the dummy. "They're both dead. The Peacekeepers killed them about a month after I was born. Halt - my mentor - pretty much raised me. He's definitely not happy though." He looked at the blond girl practicing her sling work. "I'm worried, to be honest. Cassandra and I are sharing him as mentor, and if he starts playing favorites, she could be in trouble."

"More for you then, isn't it?" Arthur asked, wanting to study his reaction.

Will's eyes tightened. "She's like a sister to me. She and Horace are all but engaged, and she's Alyss's best friend. I don't want . . ." His nest knife slammed into the dummy with extra force. "I hate this. I hate it."

"I know what you mean," Arthur said quietly. He was getting to like this Will. But what was the point of making a friend you'd have to kill? He changed the subject. "Who's Alyss?"

Some of the tension eased out of Will. "My fiancé if I can survive this. I figure if I can survive this, I can have the courage to pop the question. You got a girl?"

Arthur thought of Guinevere. "If I survive this, I might even have the courage to ask her on a date."

"Do that," Will said. "Whoever survives this needs to be happy. Everyone who gets out of here and spends the rest of their life at the bottom of a bottle is wasting the lives that bought them their chance. Refusing to live is an insult to the memory of those who didn't get the chance to." He grinned. "If you have to spend the rest of your life looking at the bottom of something, make it a coffee mug. That's what Halt does."

Arthur laughed and clapped him on the back before walking away. The words stuck with him though. So did that grin. Looking around the room at all the fighting, laughing, vibrantly living people, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Soon, 23 of them would be dead.

He agreed with Will completely. _I hate this._ Twenty-three lives were a debt every victor was handed, but it was on the Capital's tab.

And they were getting past due on their payment.

Merlin slipped through the hallways, desperately holding on to his spell. He was never going to be able to hold it for the entirety of the Games. He needed a new plan.

 _You told me it was destiny all those years ago, Kilgharrah. You didn't tell me destiny would be so hard._ Or maybe he had and Merlin hadn't listened. He hadn't listened very well back then. He had assumed that he knew better. That he could do what needed doing and still be "nice".

He knew better know. If Arthur was to succeed this time, Merlin was going to have to be prepared to do whatever it took, to dirty his hands so Arthur wouldn't have to.

But first, he needed to find a way to get into the Games.

He could replace a tribute and take their form he supposed, but he'd run into the same problem. The strain of holding up a form other than your own was immense. To hold it, sleeping and waking, on your reflection and even your very shadow for a month was all but impossible.

He heard footsteps from down the hall. He froze. Someone was coming.

They grew closer, but he didn't see anyone. He frowned and muttered a few words.

Dust flew up from the floor and attached itself to what appeared to be absolutely nothing. Or, rather, something invisible.

"Come," he whispered. Nothing happened. Time to try more mundane means.

He snatched at his hand and grabbed at the shape as it passed by. His fingers caught shimmery silver fabric. He grabbed it and ran before the startled figure beneath it could react.

"Accio!" they yelled. Nothing happened. Merlin ducked into the elevator and frantically pushed up. The man was hurtling towards him. He was invisible, but, at the moment, the cloak wasn't.

The doors swung shut. The elevator started going up. Merlin gave a sigh of relief and examined his prize.

It was a simple cloak, although that in and of itself brought back memories. Curious, he wrapped it around himself before allowing his spell to slip. He glanced in the mirror at the back of the elevator.

No reflection glanced back.

Merlin let out a delighted laugh. Destiny had come through after all.

Sirius crashed his fist into the elevator door. What had just happened?

He had lost James' cloak. Lost Harry's edge.

Or, rather, someone had stolen it from him. How had they known? And, more importantly, how could he steal it back?

Someone tapped his shoulder. "Excuse me, Mr. Black. I was asked to deliver this message to you."

Sirius turned. "What is it?" he growled.

The man smiled pleasantly at him. The elevator door dinged open and he gestured for Sirius to get inside. "In private, if you please."

Sirius got in. The door shut. "The message?"

The man was still smiling pleasantly. "Crucio," he said conversationally.

Sirius dimly realized that the elevator seemed to have stopped between levels, and then there was nothing but the pain.


	20. To the Pain (Part One)

Harry ran, pushing through the crowd that was gathered around the elevator. Luna followed after him, saying, "Excuse us," in her silvery voice.

Few heard her. Everyone's attention was locked on the steel doors of the elevators and the distorted screams that made their way through it.

Harry knew that voice. "Sirius!" He pounded on the doors.

The screams grew louder.

Harry drew out his wand and leveled it at the doors. Luna grabbed his arm. "Harry, they're watching."

"I don't care," he said furiously. There had to be a spell that would open a door.

The screams stopped.

Even halfway across the building, Lupin heard. He knew all too well what was happening. This wasn't the first time they had tried to defy the Capital.

He grabbed his wand from his pocket and ran. They'd be after him too. That didn't stop him from running towards the sound. Sirius needed him.

The hallways stretched on and on like an endless nightmare maze. The screams were as loud as if they were being piped to him. They twisted into ever more desperate cries of pain, grating on a throat that must be raw with the effort. _I'm coming, Sirius. I'm coming._

They'd known this was coming. Why had they separated? Why weren't they ever more prepared?

He could see a queue of people gathered in front of the elevators now. He was close.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Lupin spun, wand raised, mouth already forming the spell for a defensive shield.

The man smiled at him pleasantly. "No need for that. I was only asked to deliver a message."

"I know," Lupin said tersely, retreating slowly until he could feel the safety of the wall at his back. "I've been on the receiving end of one before."

"Strictly verbal," the man assured him. "He asked me to convey a question to you for you to consider as you make your preparations for the Games."

"And that is?"

"Should you and your friend be unavailable, would Ms. Tonks be an acceptable person to leave any messages with?"

Lupin felt the blood drain from his face. "I don't think the issue will arise," he managed.

The man smiled. "Good. Speaking of messages, I think your friend has just about finished listening to his. Good day." He disappeared with a crack.

Lupin stared at the spot where he's vanished for a moment, eyes seeing something far more terrible than a square of carpet. Tonks, walking down a corridor, feeling that tap on her shoulder, not thinking to draw her wand until it was far too late . . .

He snapped out of the vision and ran towards the crowd. He shoved his way through. Harry was already at the front.

The screaming stopped. Lupin grabbed Harry's arm. "Don't. It's over now."

The elevator descended. The doors dinged open.

Splotches of blood marred the perfect floor. Sirius lay curled in on himself in the corner. His wand rolled uselessly on the floor.

There was no sign of the messenger.

A babble of voices rose up behind them. Lupin ignored them and pushed Harry and Luna into the elevator. He slammed the button to close the doors and the one marked '9' in curling script before turning to look at his friend.

Harry was already there. "Sirius?"

Sirius forced his eyes open. "Harry." Recognition. That was a good sign. "You're alright."

"'Course I am. What happened to you?"

Sirius waved a hand dismissively. "Heard you yell. Was worried."

The door dinged open again. Lupin knelt beside Sirius. "Can you walk?"

Sirius tried to stand but collapsed. He grimaced. "Maybe later."

"Right. Harry, get his other arm. Luna, find Tonks." Lupin slipped under one of Sirius's arms and helped lift him to his feet. "Slowly," he told Harry. There really wasn't any other way they could go. Sirius limped forward as best he could, but he couldn't entirely hold back the pain.

Tonks came running out of her bedroom. "What happened? Sirius!"

"Hello, cuz," he mumbled.

"Let's just get you to the couch," Lupin said. "Tonks, did we bring any dittany?"

She nodded, face white. "I'll go get it."

Lupin and Harry eased Sirius on to the couch. "I'll get a blanket," Harry volunteered.

Sirius and Lupin were left alone. "Remus?"

"Right here."

"I lost it. I lost the cloak."

"It wasn't your fault. Just rest."

Sirius didn't seem to hear him. "I didn't even draw my wand. I should have known . . . I just couldn't stop thinking about the cloak . . . James is going to kill me."

Lupin swallowed hard. "We'll get it back, Sirius."

"Promise?" Sirius was starting to drift off now.

"Promise. Get some sleep." Harry hurried in with the blanket and a pillow. They arranged Sirius as best they could. Harry sat down beside his godfather and settled in for a long watch. Luna drifted in to wait with him. Lupin went to see what was keeping Tonks.

She was tearing her trunk apart. "I can't find it! I knew I should have packed neater, I just never got the hang of it, you know that - "

Lupin smiled faintly. "Accio dittany." The bottle flew out from under a pile of clothes and landed neatly in his hand.

Tonks' hair went red. "Right."

The cruciatus curse often did more internal damage than external, so Lupin tried to get Sirius to swallow a few drops. He sat back when he was done.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

Lupine sighed. He'd been hoping to worm his way out of this conversation. "Sometimes, wizards - or witches - will decide the district doesn't provide enough scope for their talents. They'll agree to work for the Capital as messengers. Messengers of a very specific kind of message."

Harry looked outraged at the idea that anyone from the districts would agree to work for the Capital. "But why would they come after Sirius?"

"You know Sirius," Lupin hedged. "He doesn't know the meaning of keeping his head down."

"Do you?" Tonks asked quietly.

Lupin shrugged. "They made their point. I won't have anything to worry about for a while."

Tonks' eyes narrowed. "You knew. You knew this might happen when you went to talk to Snow."

Lupin shifted uncomfortably. "I knew it was a possibility." A very strong possibility.

"That's why you didn't want me to come," she said, her voice getting dangerous. "All that stuff about 'long boring waits' and 'someone needing to keep an eye on these two' was just to try and keep me safe."

"You say that like there's something wrong with it," he said, starting to feel a bit angry.

"I don't need your protection, Remus. In case you've forgotten, I didn't win my Games by being helpless."

Lupin got to his feet. "You're right, you don't need my protection, because quite frankly, there's very little I can protect you from. These wizards make us look like amateurs. Somehow they know things the rest of us have forgotten, if we ever knew them in the first place! The only way to be safe is to stay out of their way!"

Tonks leaped up, eyes flashing. "So we just give up? Is that it?"

"Yes!" He ran a hand through his hair. "No. I don't know. We've got enough to worry about at the moment without trying to tackle the enforcers." He looked away. "I couldn't protect you in the Games. I couldn't protect you after. Now that the wolfsbane's gone, I can't even protect you from myself. I would . . . take it as a very great favor if you would allow me to protect you from what little I can."

Tonks softened slightly. Before she could say anything, Sirius woke up, probably awakened by all the shouting. He looked around blearily before his eyes locked on Harry. "James?"

Harry looked to Lupin for help. His throat tightened. He shook his head helplessly.

"James?" Sirius was growing more agitated.

"Harry," he said as gently as he could. "James is my dad."

Sirius relaxed. "That's right. He had to go do something. I'm supposed to watch you."

"Yeah." Harry said over a lump in his throat. "You're doing a good job."

"Good." Sirius sank back onto the couch. "Good." His eyes were still far away, and they closed soon.

Lupin excused himself politely and went to the hallway their bedrooms lined. He punched the wall.

Once. Twice. Three times.

"Lupin?"

He punched the wall again, enjoying the dent in the wall and the cracks that spread in the plaster. He got to destroy something of the Capital's for a change.

"Lupin."

He took a deep breath. He realized for the first time his knuckles were bleeding. He eased his arm back against the wall and leaned his weight against it, head down. "It was a full moon that night. Did you know that? I went under, and James and Lily were heading out to celebrate their anniversary. Sirius was watching Harry. I woke up and they told me James was dead. Lily was dead. Sirius was only half-sane. I went under and everything was fine. I woke up in a nightmare." He looked up and smiled bitterly. "The full moon's coming. I'll go under. Sirius'll do his best to keep me under control. What'll I find when I wake up? That I murdered my best friend? That Luna's gone? That Harry is? A nightmare within a nightmare and no hope of waking up."

"That won't happen," Tonks said.

"Really? You're sure? Because if you rediscovered the secret of the time turners and went back to when I was fourteen and told me I and all my friends would end up in the arena, I would have laughed in your face. It was too ridiculous, too implausible. Too terrible. And, ultimately, true."

"You're not going to kill Sirius. He's too stubborn to die, for one thing." She took a deep breath. "And even if it does happen, as awful and terrible as it will be, it won't be your fault. Anyone who's not an idiot can see that. And you won't be alone. You'll still have me."

"For a while longer at least."

She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? Because if you're dumping me, now, of all times - "

Lupin laughed. "No, of course not. This - these past two years - they've been a dream, Tonks. I'm just not unaware of the fact that sooner or later, you're going to wake up."

She punched him. It was just in the shoulder, but being exempt from the Games hadn't stopped her from training like a Career. She had some impressive muscles on her. "You really don't have a very high opinion of me, do you? I knew what I was getting into. Look, Remus, yes, once a month, you're a bit of a jerk. Do you have any idea how much better that makes you than every other guy I've dated? You're only a jerk once a month. That's incredible. The rest of the time you open doors for me - no matter how much I glare at you - you pay for everything, despite my perfect financial independence, you put up with all the weird looks and whispers without snapping once, and you take the blame when I push the Peacekeepers too far." She crossed her arms. "Look, case in point. I just punched you. Are you going to hit me back?"

"Of course not!"

"Of course not, because you, Remus, you are not a monster. You're a gentleman, and I love you for it." She sighed. "Just think about it, okay?" She kissed his cheek and went back to the living room. She knew him well enough to know when he needed to be alone.

There wasn't room for most of the old prejudices in 9. Pureblood, half-blood, muggle born, squib, muggle - it didn't matter. It took everyone working together just to survive. But people still got squeamish about werewolves. Even after Lupin won his Games and started doing a lot of good in the district, people couldn't separate him from the monsters in the woods.

What had happened in his Games hadn't helped.

He had changed. He hadn't been able to help that. It had taken a lot of magic to make people forget that. Especially since he had won during the night of the full moon. It took a lot to take down a werewolf.

The other tribute from 9 had tried to reason with him.

He had killed her.

It hadn't been his fault.

People had a hard time seeing that.

Especially Lupin.

He'd be okay, Tonks told herself. They all would, somehow.

Two minutes later, the door out of the apartment clicked closed.

Lupin found himself on the roof. He stared out at the mass of lights below. He remembered standing here as a tribute. It was beautiful, in a strange way. The vehicles made a river of fire in the streets that the brightly colored citizens burned in.

Someone bumped into him. He whirled, reaching for his wand.

A teenage girl in a red jacket backed away quickly, hands up. "Sorry, sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't see you! Are you - " she froze and took a deep sniff. Her eyes went wide. "Werewolf. You're a werewolf." She saw the look on his face. "No, no it's okay, I mean, me too. I'm a werewolf too. Takes one to know one, right? Um. Hi. I'm Ruby. Everyone calls me Red."

Lupin processed this and slowly unfroze. "Remus Lupin. Pleased to meet you. How could you tell?"

"I, um, smelled it on you. Only it smells a bit different on you than I'm used to. Not that that's bad or anything. Just different. Can't you do that?"

"No." He shook his head. "But then the only other werewolves I've met have been half feral and living in the woods. You're the only other one I've met who's trying to be civilized. I don't know what's 'normal'. I didn't even know there were any werewolves outside of 9."

"Oh, yeah. There's a pack that lives on the fringes in 6. Granny hates them for giving in to the wolf part of our nature. She says we shouldn't let the monster in any more than we have to. She even got me a cloak that keeps me from changing."

"She what?" Lupin asked, grabbing her arm. "That's possible?"

Ruby nodded. "For us at least. It sounds like you're a bit different. What generation are you?"

"I got bit years ago. When I was just a kid. Changing a month later is one of the worst memories of my life."

"So it is different! See, with us, you have to pass it on every few generations with a bite or scratch or something, but it's kind of hereditary too, and you don't remember changing unless you're in control of yourself."

A pang of disappointment hit him with almost physical agony. Maybe the cloak wouldn't work on him then. He forced himself back to the conversation. "They can do that?"

"My mother says that the humans will always be convinced we're monsters. The moment we believe them is the moment they're right. But it's not that easy to convince yourself, is it?"

"No," he said quietly, "it's not." Still, could there be a way? Could he get control of himself? Stop changing altogether?

She looked out over the edge into the bright lights. "Have you ever - hurt anyone? That you cared about?" she asked hesitantly.

"My Games. The full moon came near the end that year. I changed. I killed six people in one night, including my district partner. Her name was Alice Longbottom. They showed me the video later." He swallowed hard. "She was trying to get me to stop. She was trying to reason with me. It was the Hunger Games, and a werewolf was charging her, and she tried to use reason."

Ruby was shaking. "I didn't know I was changing. Everyone knew the wolf was abroad again, but nobody knew who it was. I thought it was Peter. My boyfriend. I half convinced him. He agreed to a test. I'd chain him up in an abandoned building, and we'd see if he changed. What was the harm, right? If he did, it'd be OK, he'd be safely chained up. If he didn't, we'd go home, and I'd feel better knowing he wasn't the monster. Only it wasn't him. It was me. And he was chained up really, really well." A sob burst out of her. She pressed a hand to her mouth. "I ate him," she confessed in a choked whisper. "How can they tell me I'm not a monster? He must have been so scared. I hurt him so much, and I loved him. I loved him so much it hurt, and I killed him."

"You didn't know. It wasn't your fault, Red." How many times had he heard those words before? It was different hearing them from the other end. "But it still hurts, doesn't it? Because you should have been able to stop. It should have been like the stories where he refused to fight and told you he loved you, and suddenly you'd come back to yourself. But it doesn't work like that."

Tentatively, he put an arm around her shoulder.

She leaned into him, sobbing. He wrapped his other arm around her too. She was shaking so hard it was a miracle she didn't fly apart.

After a few minutes she recovered herself. She pulled back and wiped her nose. "Sorry. I'm a mess. I'm not going to stand a chance in the arena."

That's right. She wasn't just a scared, lonely girl. She was the competition. She was between Harry and home. He should go. Tonks would be wondering where he was. He started to walk away, but he couldn't just leave her like this.

"Red," he called. "One monster to another. I think maybe, if you care this much, it means you aren't past saving."

She nodded slowly. "Thank you. For everything."

"Thank you. For hope."

When he got back to their rooms, he found Tonks curled up in the living room with the others. He kissed the top of her head by way of apology and treasured the smile she gave him. Sirius was just waking up, and he seemed more lucid this time. At least, that's what Lupin assumed when he heard him start muttering the old schoolboy rhyme, "Tonks and Lupin sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then come marriage, then come Lupin pushing - "

"Sirius down the stairs," Lupin finished it for him. He smiled at him. "Glad you're awake."

Sirius grinned back. "What, that? That was nothing. I've gotten harder hits in pillow fights."

Harry grinned up at his godfather. "Have you been using Fred and George's new biting pillows?"

They burst out laughing. "I have got to get me some of those," Sirius managed.

The room was warm and bright, and for at least this moment, everyone Lupin loved was in it laughing. There were worse ways to end a day.

 **Note: I am aware Longbottom was not Alice's maiden name. However, I don't know what her maiden name was, so I opted with Longbottom to make her instantly recognizable. If you know her actual maiden name, feel free to comment, and while you're at it, tell me how you're liking the story. I can't fix problems I don't know about.**


	21. To the Pain (Part Two)

**Author's Note: Why yes, the past few titles have been inspired by the Princess Bride, however could you tell?**

 **On a totally random note, has it occurred to anyone else that the Status Quo song from High School Musical, if adapted, could fit the Hunger Games perfectly? Replace Sharpay with Snow and it might just work . . .**

 **Right. Story time. This chapter parallels the last one. It takes place at approximately the same time and just covers some viewpoints that didn't fit cohesively with the last chapter's arc. A dash of Will, a gallon of Merlin, a cup of what ifs . . .**

Will stepped out onto level 7. Cassandra was still down there chatting with the remnants of the crowd. Will had felt uncomfortable amongst so many people once the crisis was over. He was more sociable than most Rangers, but they were a fairly solitary group as a whole. Some of their habits and paranoia had seeped into him after a lifetime of living with Halt. He'd enjoyed talking with Arthur today though. Maybe he should see if he was interested in teaming up, if Cassandra agreed to it. It would be nice to have someone like that protecting his back instead of hunting it. He'd seen that guy with a sword. He wasn't particularly eager to go up against him hand to hand, double knife defense or no.

Their escort was nowhere to be seen. He wondered vaguely where she was and if Halt was with her.

A loud pop, well, popped. Halt would never have let him forget it if he'd heard that piece of eloquence. It was a good thing Halt only acted like he could read his thoughts.

"Halt?" he called.

A groan answered him from the living room. Will took off running, hand reaching for an arrow that wasn't there. He cursed and grabbed the first weapon he could, a wooden ladle in the buffet that had been laid out for their dinner. "Halt!"

He burst into the room. Halt was crouched on the floor, clutching that stupid green table for support. His other arm was wrapped around his ribs. No enemies were evident.

Will rushed forward. "What happened? Where are you hurt?"

"Have I ever told you," Halt said hoarsely, "that you have a bad habit of asking questions in pairs? And what are you doing with that ladle?"

"Have you ever wondered where I got the habit from?" Will dropped the ladle and eased Halt up. "Now answer my poorly mannered, paired up questions."

Halt grimaced as Will helped him onto the couch. "Bad news," he gasped.

"What?" Will asked tensely.

"The Corps is going to have to change its policy on magic."

Merlin folded the cloak up and slipped it inside his shirt. He wasn't letting this prize out of his hands for a moment. He stepped onto the 11th floor.

Morgana must have beaten him up here. Her shoes were lying near the television.

Plus, she was screaming, so that was a bit of a tip off.

They had been enemies for years, but there was something about the sound of a woman's scream that tugs at every human instinct. Merlin was running towards her before he knew what he was doing.

Morgana was standing outside of Nimueh's bedroom. The door was open. Nimueh lay across the threshhold, blood streaming from her fingertips.

He shoved past Morgana and knelt next to her. "Nimueh?" Her eyelashes fluttered.

The elevator dinged again. Arthur must be coming up. "Go take care of him," Merlin ordered.

"I've got her." Morgana was too shocked to defy him.

Actually, he probably could have used a little help getting her to her bed. He had to half drag her, until he remembered there was no good reason not to use magic.

His eyes flashed. Much better.

Blood spilled from numerous cuts up her arms. "Convelsca," he said quietly, healing the cuts one by one.

She came to herself when he still had all of one arm left to go. "Merlin."

"Who did this to you?"

"Snow's men. He wants to know more of the mysterious Emrys."

Deja vu was something of an old friend by now. It was a useful one, as it never went and died on him. It still didn't stop a chill from gripping him. "What did you tell them?" he asked. His grip on her arm tightened.

She smiled. "I told them they could go jump in the Lake of Avalon. I don't know why they got so upset. It wasn't a bad hint."

After a thousand odd years of life, not much surprised him anymore, but this week had been full of them. He had to swallow past the lump in his throat. He hadn't realized Nimueh cared. He got back to work on her arm. "Thank you," he said at last.

She looked up at him. "You're the only hope for our kind, Merlin. And you've been there, every time I or one of the others came back. Every death, every alliance, every triumph and defeat, you've been there. Our feud was an amusing way to pass the time until Arthur returned, but if Snow thinks I'll betray you to him because of it, he's wrong."

He'd healed the last of the cuts. "And Morgana?"

She sighed. "I thought I could save her. But her fate is written large in the stars, and she follows it wholeheartedly. You were right, Merlin. Every time, she comes back angrier."

"I know." He stood. "I'll let you rest." He squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Nimueh."

Morgana and Arthur were waiting outside the door. "She'll be alright," he said tiredly. Morgana hurried past him to check. He nodded to Arthur and headed towards his room. He needed to sleep.

Arthur followed him. He stopped in the doorway. "You used magic to heal her, didn't you?"

"Yes." Strange how things had changed over the years. Her first death had been on his hands. First three deaths more like. It had taken things a while to change, but after a while it would have been impossible for them not to. It was hard to fight the last of your kin in the midst of a world that no longer believed in you, especially when the reason for your quarrel was long since irrelevant.

Arthur nodded. He looked worried by something. Was it the magic? Merlin well remembered how much he had mistrusted it the first time around. He had changed his mind, but only about a day before his death. It might not have stuck.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

Arthur waved a hand. "All of it. Most people don't call in a favor in order to sneak aboard a train and plot how they can invisibly follow the person who volunteered for them around in the arena."

"Well, when you put it like that . . . "

"I'm serious, Merlin. Why?"

He had the right to know. He'd think Merlin was crazy, but he had the right to know. "Come on inside. Shut the door behind you."

"Why?"

"This isn't the sort of conversation we want someone stumbling into. Trust me."

Arthur glared at him, but he did it. Merlin started talking.

By the end of it, Arthur was staring at incredulously. "So you're saying in another life I was some kind of uber-president called a king who ruled a place called Camelot, and that you and the other people from that life have been periodically popping up throughout history, but now that I'm finally back, I'm going to fulfill some sort of crackpot prophecy that says I'm going to unite the districts against the Capital and legalize magic."

"Close. The others have been popping up throughout history; I'm just immortal. And the prophecy isn't crackpot."

"Oh, well, in that case, it makes perfect sense."

"Really?"

"No, you idiot! That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

Merlin looked at him. "The first time we met, you were using a serving boy for target practice. I stepped in to try and stop you, and you tried to take my head off with a mace."

Arthur froze. Merlin went on. "I hated your guts for weeks, but I also saved your life, so your father made me your manservant. Your father tried to make peace with a man called Bayard. You made me wear the stupidest hat I've ever seen. I thought you were about to be poisoned, and your father made me drink from your cup to prove it. It was. You defied your father and went on an insanely dangerous journey in order to get the antidote. I think that's when we started to warm up towards each other. You've got to remember, Arthur, you have to."

Flashes of color flickered in Arthur's mind.

Merlin, pushing him out of the way of a thrown knife.

Merlin, falling with a hand to his throat.

Nimueh, leading him into a cave.

An unanswered question called out from across history and made itself heard. "There was a light. In the cave, there was a light."

"That was me, Arthur. I sent it to help you. I've always done everything I can to help you. Even when I didn't like you very much, I knew how important your role would be."

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

Guinevere leaning in to kiss him.

Himself knighting the kneeling Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, and Elyan.

Morgana holding a sword to his back.

Merlin coming to help him on what was supposed to be a solitary quest.

Merlin making himself a diversion for a dragon.

Merlin teasing him about being fat.

Merlin dodging a pitcher Arthur had thrown at him.

Merlin tripping over his own feet.

Merlin telling him he believed in him.

Merlin refusing to let him give up.

Merlin confessing he had magic.

Merlin, following him to the ends of the earth with only mild - okay, moderate - complaining, and convincing everyone around them to do the same.

Merlin.

He sat for a moment, overwhelmed. It couldn't be true. It was too incredible. But it was. Merlin was right.

Arthur finally looked up. Merlin was biting his lip. "Do you remember anything else? Anything at all?"

"Flashes. Glimpses."

"What?"

Arthur told him. It didn't seem like much to him, but Merlin grew more and more excited. "Yes! Yes! I told them so! I told them so. Don't worry. If you remember that much, we can bring back the rest eventually. I can help fill in any blanks. Trust me, I remember everything. Including the fact that you promised me two days off, by the way. I'm calling that in when we get back to the district."

Arthur laughed from sheer disbelief of the absurdity of it. It didn't stop the touch of pain that had begun to grow in him. He had missed so much. Made so many mistakes. And the first true friend he'd ever had . . . "Do the others remember?"

"Some times they do. Most times they don't. They've started seeing flashes too, though. The knights and Nimueh remember already, and Gwen's coming around. I think you'll all remember eventually."

"So that's why you're doing all this," he said quietly. "Because I really was that guy. You think the prophecy means I can take down the Capital."

"No. I'm doing this because I know you can take down the Capital. And because I waited for you through three world wars, the apocalypse, and the Dark Days, and I was really starting to worry you weren't coming, so if you're here now it means it really is time. But most importantly, I'm doing it because you're my friend, dollop head, and I watched you die once, and I don't want to have to watch that again."

Arthur swallowed. "Thank you."

"See? We're already making progress! It took eight years and your deathbed for you to say that last time."

Arthur laughed again. "The Capital. You want me to take down the Capital."

"We need to get you through the Games first. We can be revolutionaries later, although I have begun the process of storing up weapons and gathering support, so when you're ready, I'll have the groundwork prepared for you. I've even got some ideas on how we could get a hovercraft . . . "

Arthur stared at him. Merlin trailed off, looking worried. "What? What'd I do?"

Arthur put his head in his hands. "You - you - And I never even noticed."

"Don't worry about it," Merlin said cheerfully. "It's a tradition. Speaking of traditions, we need to work on your interview tomorrow. I've made out some notes."

Arthur was still staring at him. "When have you had time for all of that?"

Merlin frowned. "After work."

"What about, I don't know, a personal life?"'

"This is my personal life. You don't make revolutions public till you're good and ready."

Arthur made a mental note to give Merlin a raise. "Right. The arena. How are you going to stay invisible the whole time?"

"I've got a solution for that." Merlin pulled something out of his shirt. "Ta-da!"

"It's a cloak."

"Wait for it, wait for it . . . " He tied it around himself and pulled up the hood.

And disappeared.

Arthur choked. "Where did you get that?"

Merlin reappeared. The cloak was tossed over his shoulder. "I may have possibly, given the balance of probability, could have - "

" _Mer_ lin."

"Stolen it."

"So the other districts, they have magic too?"

Merlin shrugged. "Some. But I'm better."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You sound awfully sure."

Merlin grinned. "I'm the best there ever was and the best there ever will be. Presenting Emrys, magic itself." He swept a bow.

"And yet, you're still an idiot."

Merlin grinned at him. "Just part of my charm."

" _So you're not an idiot. That was another lie."_

 _"No, just part of my charm."_

"I'm not all powerful though, so you still need to be careful, especially of Morgana. I'm pretty sure she remembers her other lives, and I know she's got magic."

That was the part he hadn't wanted to think about. He shook his head. "I just can't believe she'd betray me."

"She already did," Merlin pointed out. "As did Agravaine and Mordred and sort of Uther. If I'd assassinated a few more people, Camelot might never have fallen."

"Assassinated? You were _assassinating_ people?"

"There's very little I didn't do, there at the end. I could see it all crashing down around our heads. The prophecy about your - your death was coming true. I did what I had to do, and I'd do most of it again. I believe in the world you'll create, Arthur. I've waited for it for longer than you can imagine. I believe in it, and I believe in you. I'll do what I have to do in order to protect you."

" _You are the greatest king Camelot will ever know. Nothing, not even this stone, can stand in your way."_

 _"Let me drink it. What's the life of a servant compared to that of a prince?"_

 _"Good servants are hard to come by."_

 _"I'm not that good."_

He had shown up late and exhausted. He had disappeared frequently. He had said things that had infuriated him.

He had devoted every free moment to protecting Camelot and never asked for thanks. He had spoken uncomfortable but necessary truths.

He wasn't a good servant. He was a great one, truly great. Some men were great generals. Others spent their whole lives chasing some ambition. With the same brilliance and dedication they used for their own means, Merlin served. The greatest sorcerer who'd ever lived life's ambition was to keep Arthur safe.

Or to put it a far better way: Merlin wasn't doing this because of some prophecy. He was doing it because he was Arthur's friend.

Arthur didn't know about Morgana. He wanted to trust her. But surely, after all he had done, Merlin had earned the right to be believed, hadn't he?

"Just keep an eye on her," Merlin said. "That's all I'm asking."

Arthur nodded.

Merlin let out a sigh of relief. Then he tripped over his own feet.

Some things never change.


	22. Interview with a (Insert Here)

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 74th Hunger Games!"

The crowd roared. Sherlock drummed his fingers on the arm rest.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

District 1's girl tribute took the stage.

Juliet Butler. 18. Three concealed weapons. Advanced martial arts training. Career. Younger sister to former victor Domovoi Butler. Odds: In her favor. Interview: Designed to be charming, yet lethal. Subtle signs of an inferiority complex due to famous brother. Definite eagerness to prove herself. Status: Exploitable.

Niall DeMencha. 18. Previously broken left arm. Slight weakness still evident. Advanced martial arts training. Limited intelligence. Career. Odds: Reasonable. Interview: Mediocre. Sponsors will still probably buy in due to muscle mass. Status: Not a threat.

Molly Aster. 18. Intelligent. Cautious. Anxiety issues. Complicated relationship with fellow tribute, currently strained. Protective of previously observed locket. Note: Examine for possibilities. Career. Low muscle mass, but probably quite agile. Odds: Indeterminate. Interview: Cagey. Definitely hiding something. Status: Interesting.

Peter Pan. Claimed age: 16. Actual Age: Indeterminate. Perceptible anachronisms in speech and posture. Clearly uncomfortable in the spotlight. Something living in left pocket. Pet? Unlikely. Communication seems to exist. Strange buoyancy. Liftoff previously observed. Odds: Good, although hurt by likely low sponsorship. Interview: Sullen. Nervous. Status: Threat.

Eowyn Dernhelm. Age: 17. Combat training: Extensive. Horse lover. Old injury in both arms. Determined to prove herself. Pretty enough to attract sponsors. Odds: Reasonable. Interview: Defiant, yet eloquent. Status: Exploitable.

Gimli Gloinsson. Age: ?. Combat training: Extensive. Axe work particularly good. Size: limiting, but compensated for with more than adequate muscle mass. Bones demonstrate remarkable hardiness. Training reveals excellent speed over short distances but overall lack of running stamina, although fighting stamina remains strong. Odds Given by Capital: Low. Actual Odds: Good. Likely Alliances: Eowyn. Interview: Gruff, yet entertaining. Status: Threat. Note: Examine district more closely. Something is off here.

"So, Gimli, you seemed quite attached to that axe."

"Aye. It was my father's before me, and his father's before him, and his father's before him, all the way back to my many greats grandfather who received it from Durin himself."

"Durin?"

Gandalf coughed. Caesar moved on without waiting for an answer to his last question. "I noticed when your father came to take it from you - "

"Father!" Gimli was outraged. "That was me mother!"

Caesar blinked. "The beard?"

Gimli nodded proudly. "It's a very fine one, is it not? Me father always said that was how she first caught his eye."

The audience tittered. Caesar moved the conversation to safer waters. "So what exactly was the significance of the district token you accepted instead?"

Gimli patted the pouch in which he kept the hairs and beamed at him. "Lovely, aren't they? Better than gold. Better than mithril, even!"

Caesar seemed vaguely aware that somewhere along the line he'd lost the exact thread of this conversation. He tried valiantly to retake it. "What do you think your odds are for the Games?"

"As long as there's an axe, I'll do just fine. It'll be just like splitting orc skulls back home - "

The buzzer rang about a minute early. Gimli made his way happily back to his seat. Gandalf lowered his staff. It was always interesting trying to get a dwarf through the interview process. At least this time he hadn't had to stop said dwarf from charging the audience. That had been a memorable experience.

Tia Dolma. Claimed Age: 16. Actual Age: Indeterminate. Accent: Unplaceable. Confidence borders on arrogance. Charms indicate belief in primitive forms of so-called magic. Attractive enough to draw sponsors. Fellow tribute is careful of her. Alliances: Unpredictable. Strategy: Unpredictable. Odds: Unpredictable. Interview: Sensual. Amused at inside joke. Status: Strangely threatening. Watch carefully.

Jack Sparrow, Captain. Age: 15. Stance indicates training with a sword. Agile. Quick thinking. Brand indicates former trouble with a Peacekeeper. Son of former victor, Captain Morgan Sparrow. Possible alliance? Tempting, but unwise. Odds: Reasonable. Interview: Witty. Wild. Status: Unfortunate that circumstances prevent prolonged conversation.

"How would you respond to the odds makers assessment of you?"

"I'd tell them that they're forgetting one very important thing, mates."

"What's that?"

Jack leaned back and adjusted his hat. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

Elsa Arandelle. 18. Volunteer. Gloves conceal ability to freeze water particles, as observed in training. Extent of abilities unknown. Afraid of herself and her powers. Combat training: Little to none. Singing Voice: Better than average. Parents dead, leaving her sole guardian of sister, Anna. Odds: Good. Interview: Cautious. Dignified. Status: Exploitable. Possible alliance.

"I saw you volunteered for your sister. Anna?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us about her?"

"I could."

Long silence. "Will you?"

"No."

Beat. "Well. Is there anything you want to tell her?"

"She already knows what I could afford to tell her before the Games. I'll explain everything else after."

"So you feel good about your chances of winning?"

"Yes."

Tiny tendrils of ice spread from where her hands clenched the arms of the seat. She stood up quickly and left, fifteen seconds still on the clock.

Hans Southson. 17. Sociopathic tendencies. Desperate to prove himself. Muscle mass: low. Proficiency in fencing and shooting: high. Ruthlessness: Unimpeachable. Trustworthiness: Laughable. Manipulative opportunist. Preys on weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Odds: Extremely low if he gets within my range. Interview: Charming, if one is unversed in classic signs of manipulation and narcissism. Status: On "To Kill" list.

Ruby Hood. Preferred Name: Red. 16. Uncertainty of self makes her highly volatile. Probable murderer. Distinct aversion to meat despite obvious appetite for it. Wolf hairs found on clothing, as were traces of blood. Hypothesis: werewolf. Proficient at crossbow. Excels at tracking. Low self-esteem. Odds: Reasonable. Interview: Flirtatious, but ultimately ineffective. Status: Exploitable.

Baelfire Gold. 13. Son of former victor, Rumplestiltskin Gold, although there is no record of R. Gold actually competing. Obviously afraid of father. Combat skills: negligible. Odds: Low. Interview: Unremarkable. Status: Not a threat, although killing him would be unwise if I wish to make it back to my district alive.

Cassandra King. 15. Proficient at sling. Pretty, but unlikely to draw heavy sponsorship. Spoiled. Likely Alliance: Will Treaty. Odds: Low. Interview: Tried too hard to come across as fierce. Status: Not a threat.

Will Treaty. 15. Excels at: camouflage, hunting, archery, tracking, and overall wilderness survival skills. Likable. Adopted by victor Halt O'Carrick. Likely to receive preferential treatment from said mentor. Weaknesses: Cassandra King. Odds: Reasonable, fluctuating depending on arena. Interview: Likable, but forgettable. Status: Containable threat.

Natasha Romanov. 18. Volunteer. Concealed weapons: 5. Highly trained in multiple martial arts. Excels with: projectile weapons, hand to hand combat, improvised weapons, gymnastics, working through pain. Weakness: wilderness survival, Clint Barton. Alliances: Clint Barton. Appearance: Likely to draw sponsors. Previous injury to torso, likely high velocity bullet. Dance training. Strategy: Pretends vulnerability. Odds: Good. Interview: Continues strategy. Status: Formidable.

Clint Barton. 18. Excels at: archery, wilderness survival. Superb vision. Alliances: Natasha Romanov. Romantically Attached To: Natasha Romanov. Unknown if reciprocated. Odds: Depend on Natasha's priorities. Interview: Continued strategy of romance with Natasha. Status: Potential threat.

Luna Lovegood. 16. Skills: ? Weaknesses: ? District Token: thin strip of wood, 13 inches in length, reasonably flexible. Hypothesis: highly developed piece of technology. Apparently contains memory modifiers. BE WARY. Appearance: Odd. Odds: Unknown. Interview: Reveals strategy of keeping opponents off guard with seeming harmlessness? Status: Enigma.

"Now, Luna, you mentioned something at the reaping that I've been wondering about ever since. What exactly is a nargle?"

"They're invisible flying creatures that interfere with thought. They're everywhere in the Capital. You don't have as many around you, though."

"Er, thank you. You were one of many volunteers this year. Tell me, what prompted you to volunteer for Ginny? Is she a relative?"

"A friend. I don't have very many, you know. Most people think I'm odd. She's nice, though. She hexed some boys who hid my things. And it didn't seem fair for the Weasleys to have to send someone else to the Games. They already lost Percy. I didn't like him much, but it was hard on them."

"I'm sure. Did they come to see you before you left for the Capital?"

"Oh, yes. The twins even gave me some fudge. Would you like some?" She pulled a crumbled piece out of her pocket.

"Certainly." He took a bite. "Delicious."

"Is it? I haven't eaten any. They said it would cause a fever and some boils. I wasn't sure I should risk it."

Caesar coughed out what little he hadn't swallowed yet. Luna leaned forward. "Are you alright? You look a little pale."

Addendum on Luna Lovegood: Caesar appears to be flushed and may well be developing a fever. Refuse all food offered by District 9.

Harry Potter. 16. See above for details on district token. Likable: likely to form alliances. Trustworthy. Excels at defense but hesitates to go on the offensive. Son of former victor. Taken in by godfather, also former victor, and his current mentor. Likely to receive preferential treatment from mentors. Odds: Unknown. Interview: Likable. Status: Proceed with caution.

Leah Clearwater. 17. Wolf hairs found on clothes. Combined with circumstantial evidence from previous games, hypothesis: shapeshifter. Defiant. Highly fluctuating self-esteem. Excels at: tracking, fighting, running, and endurance. Proficient at: wilderness survival skills. Abrasive personality makes alliances unlikely. High tension with fellow tribute. Odds: Reasonable. Interview: Hostile. Status: Containable threat.

Edward Cullen. Claimed age: 17. Actual age: Indeterminate. Education: Improbably good. Skin: Impervious to all implements attempted thus far. Eyes: Progress from gold to black. Muscle mass: Reasonable. Speed: Inhuman. Strength: Inhuman. Deductions: Improbably accurate. Traces of blood found on clothes before reversion to gold eyes. Hypothesis: Vampire. Appearance: Highly likely to draw sponsors. Odds: Excellent. Interview: Amusing. Status: CRITICAL THREAT.

Morgana Pendragon. 17. Proficient at: swordplay and archery. Displays remarkable luck, normally accompanied by glowing eyes. Hypothesis: In the works. Arrogant. Displays some sociopathic tendencies. Untrustworthy. Current Alliances: Arthur Pendragon. He appears aware of her abilities but naive to her temperament. Liable to betrayal. Appearance: Potential to draw sponsors. Favored by mentor. Odds: Depend on arena and limitations to her abilities. Interview: Catlike. Status: Threat.

Arthur Pendragon. 18. Excels at: swordplay, archery, mace work, quarterstaffs, spears, hunting, crossbow, wilderness survival skills, snares, and knives. May be proficient in other weapons, but this was all the training room had to offer. Displays leadership qualities and trustworthiness, although he is naive to the prospect of betrayal. Odd shimmering follows him around. Investigations inconclusive as memories of approaching it are quickly followed by blank spaces in my mind palace. Approach with caution. Old injuries to: leg, arm, torso, and head, although none have done significant damage. Slight tendencies toward arrogance. Odds: Good. Interview: Interesting. Definitely defiant towards the Capital. Status: Threat.

"How do you think your father feels about having both children in the Games?"

"I'm surprised you didn't hear him expressing his opinion on that even here. The rest of the country's ears are still ringing from it."

"You knew Morgana was going to be in the Games. Yet you volunteered anyway. Why?"

"Because Morgana was going to be in the Games." And because I didn't want to watch my only real friend get beheaded on television.

"But how do you feel, knowing you may have to face her in the final rounds?"

Arthur shrugged. "If we're the last two alive, I'll die happy knowing that she made it." Could he? Knowing what Merlin had told him, could he step aside and let her win?

Could he bear to do otherwise?

"You won't fight for the victor's crown?"

"Some things are more important than personal gain. Loyalty. Honor. Family. I realize these are concepts you're probably unfamiliar with, so I can get a dictionary for you if you'd like."

Mary Morstan. 15. Has a cat named Daisy. Totally unsuited for the Games. Appearance: John insists that she's pretty, nice, and tells me that she uses strawberry lip gloss. The last is hearsay as it is currently unconfirmed. Odds: Negligible. Interview: Sweet. Or at least, that's what John would say. Status: Threat only insofar as that John is unlikely to forgive me if I kill her.

Sherlock Holmes. 16. Intelligent. Proficient in unarmed combat, crossbow, and fencing. Extensive data on wilderness survival techniques stored in mind palace but these are yet to be put to a practical test. Scored well in pre-Games tests due to impressing judges by telling them their own life stories. Odds: Too biased to calculate. Interview: Yet to begin. Status: Nervous.

"So, Sherlock, tell me a little about yourself."

"I have a better idea. Why don't I tell you about yourself? There are several standard deductions that can easily be made, despite your prep teams attempts to erase the evidence.

"You've had plastic surgery done two, no, three times. They botched your nose the first time and had to go back and redo it.

"You've been in recent and fairly constant contact with a white haired cat, but you don't get along, so it's unlikely to be a pet. More probably, it belongs to your girlfriend, a short, red haired woman who uses cheap perfume because she's heavily in debt, most likely that woman right there." He pointed to a woman in a green dress who had probably been pretty before she tried to become beautiful. "You're about to break up with her though, possibly because of the debt, possibly because you prefer blondes, but most likely because she's a callous idiot, and you are, all evidence to the contrary, not actually a bad man, so you'll probably let her down easy." He glanced up at the clock. He'd have to time this exactly right. "You might consider asking out that woman on the first row in the green coat. The makeup is a little strange, I'll admit, but I think you'd prefer her dog to a cat, you share several common interests, and she actually has a heart buried underneath all that plastic." Thirty seconds left.

Caesar blinked. This had been a bad night for him.

"Was I right?"

"Yes. Yes, on everything. Wow. Can you do that on anyone?"

"Absolutely. Take President Snow for instance - "

The buzzer rang. Perfect timing. Sherlock flashed a brilliant smile at the crowd. "Next time then. After the Games."

Caesar shook his hand. "I certainly hope so, Mr. Holmes. The best of luck to you."

"Thank you, Caesar. But I don't believe in luck." He flashed another perfectly calculated smile and left the stage to wild applause.

With any luck, that would have intrigued sponsors eager to preserve his abilities for their own use. They would serve as his backup plan if Plan A didn't pan out. He patted the pocket where he kept the locket Mycroft had given him. The Gamemakers hadn't been able to ferret out its secret. No matter what happened, he would have a way out.

President Snow was still watching him when he sank into his chair. Sherlock nodded gravely at him before turning his attention to his mentor, Irene Adler. She winked at him.

She approved, at least. He hoped Mycroft did too.

Exhausted, he leaned his head back against the seat. Sherlock Holmes. Interview: Complete success.

 **A note on magic and Sherlock: In the original books, Sherlock always seeks a scientific explanation, but he doesn't dismiss the supernatural out of hand. He instead states that he has to assume every crime has a human (or animal) cause, since he feels himself inadequate to deal with the supernatural. In the Robert Downey Jr. version, he never even seems to consider it possible, although he's not above recreating rituals or using superstitions for his own ends (like trying to separate John and Mary). Only in BBC's version does he panic at the very idea of magic and ghosts, although admittedly, BBC's version is what I'm drawing most from.**

 **I decided that Sherlock, after years of watching the Games, would have picked up on details that others missed and that District 9 wouldn't think to try and wipe. From those details, he could easily deduce that there was more than the natural at play. How much he knew, how much he guessed, and how much he was blissfully unaware of depends on his intelligence and former tributes' degrees** **of diligence.**

 **Writing a character far more intelligent than yourself is always difficult. In the end, I decided to err on the side of Sherlock's genius, and trust him to figure out a way to deduce what he needed to know. I also decided that while the supernatural might not be his first explanation, he wouldn't ignore the evidence of his own eyes, no matter how improbably reality might be. You'll note, however, that he never actually uses the word "magic" in a context other than scoffing at Tia Dolma's charms. I suppose he still holds out some hope that there's a rational explanation behind all this.**

 **One last note: In the interest of time, space, and interest, I summarized and skipped large portions of the interview process. If you want to see a snippet of a particular character, all you have to do is ask.**

 **Tomorrow, I hope to bring you either the farewells** **of the tributes and their mentors or the bloodbath, possibly both. I still have received no persuasive arguments for preserving any particular characters, so I'll be pursuing my original plan.**

 **It begins with six . . .**


	23. Stay Alive

Sherlock sat in his room and stared at the wall. Halfway across the continent, Mycroft did the same. For once, Sherlock's mind was completely blank.

Irene opened the door. "It's time."

"It's time, Mycroft," John said.

Wordlessly, the two brothers stood.

Merlin checked through the backpack he planned to carry for the thirteenth time. "Water, food, matches, fever medication, a roll of bandages . . . Do you think I should grab some rolls?"

"Merlin."

"You're right, there's not really room." He slung it over his shoulders and started pacing around the room. "Can I get you anything? More food? Something to drink?"

" _Mer_ lin."

"I wish we had more time. We should have made alliances. I knew that was a mistake. I'm sure we could have found some way to keep them from noticing me. I mean, I'm going to be invisible, and I could be careful not to bump into anybody -"

" _Merlin_. Why is it that whenever you're calm, I'm panicking, and when you're panicking, I'm calm?"

"I'm always panicking. I just hide it whenever you need a pep talk."

"Thank you for your confidence. Come on, let's go."

Merlin pulled the cloak on. They walked out to where Morgana and Nimueh were waiting.

Morgana smiled. "Ready to bring honor to our district?"

"There is no honor in this." Was Merlin right? Was she hiding something behind that smile?

"Fate be with you," Nimueh said, but she was looking at a seemingly empty spot in the air.

Uther sat at the dining room table. It could seat twelve. Today, he sat alone. The two seats beside him felt even more conspicuously empty than the others.

The pre-Games talk was playing on the television. He'd had one of the servants bring it in so that he wouldn't miss a moment. A red clock counted down at the bottom of the screen.

Guinevere brought in his breakfast. "Thank you." His hand shook slightly as he picked up the silverware. "Turn it up. I can't hear a thing."

Guinevere did so and then stepped back.

Caesar started talking about this year's arena. "It should be the most dangerous we've had yet."

Uther's knuckles went white. Pictures of the tributes flashed across the screen. Guinevere stared at the one of Arthur, a fist pressed against her trembling mouth.

Natasha held up the necklace Clint had given her. "Help me with the clasp?"

The metal felt cold against her neck. She repressed a shiver.

The clasp snapped shut. She turned around and kissed him. The kiss was a spot of warmth in the sudden cold that numbed her.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Harry leaned on the balcony railing, Sirius beside him.

"You ready?"

"Yeah," Harry lied.

Sirius probably knew that, but he accepted the answer. "Be careful in there. It changes you. You see terrible things. You do terrible things. And the difference between the winner and the losers is that the victor has to live with it." Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, Harry. Don't let them change that."

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Sirius embraced him before they walked back to the others. Harry helped to support Sirius as they went.

Lupin nodded once, his face tight, and clapped Harry on the shoulder. Tonks, hair uncharacteristically muted, gave him a quick hug. "Good luck, Harry."

Luna was sitting on the edge of the couch reading the latest edition of the Quibbler. She'd painted her nails bright yellow and stenciled flowers on them. She looked up. "Are we leaving already?"

Tonks nodded. Luna hopped to her feet and gave the magazine to Lupin. "I promised to let Ginny read it when I was done. Would you give it to her?"

"You'll do it yourself," Harry told her forcefully.

She beamed at him. "That's sweet of you, but I knew from the start I wouldn't be coming back. I don't think I could kill anyone. Are you ready, Harry?"

He offered her his arm.

The Weasley clan stood pressed together on the rain slicked streets. Hermione stood next to them, bouncing nervously. "Over a fourth of all deaths happen in the first twenty-four hours - "

"If you say another word, I will hex your mouth shut," Ginny said fiercely. Dean Thomas was right in front of her, utterly ignored.

"Ginny!" her mother reproved.

Ginny just stared straight ahead, pale faced, as the clock ticked down on twenty-three lives.

Leah tripped on the step that led out to the platform. A cold hand caught her elbow. "Careful. Are you all right?"

"Fine," she muttered. She caught the automatic thanks before it could pass through her lips. He was a leech, after all.

She couldn't help but see his face as she passed him though, and it occurred to her that he must be even lonelier than she was.

"Treaty rules?" she asked abruptly

"Pardon?" He raised an eyebrow.

She gritted her teeth, but it was too late to take it back. "I don't kill you, you don't kill me, at least until one of us bites somebody." Not that her bite would do anything, but it would mean she had transformed, an unforgivable sin under the circumstances.

He studied her for a moment and it hit her suddenly that his eyes had already begun to darken from their former color. Could a leech go a month without feeding? He would have to. He wouldn't dare drink even animal blood, not on television. And the bloodbath that the Cornucopia would start . . . Treaty rules might be worthless soon.

He smiled. "Treaty rules it is."

The pack gathered at Sam's house. The dancing flames of the fire reflected strangely off the static filled old television. A plate of bread, made from extra rations gotten who knew where, laid untouched on the table.

Seth was already trembling from the effort of holding in the urge to go wolf and forget his problems. Sam listened to the tinny voices squeaking out of the aged system, guilt heavy in his eyes.

The Alpha's job was to protect the pack. He had failed.

On the other side of town, in a white house with a porch that was only just starting to sag, the Cullens stood still as statues around a brand new flat screen. Even the wave of calm Jasper released into the room couldn't hold back the cold knot of unarticulated fears. Alice's eyes were far away as they tracked flickers of visions through a labyrinth of futures.

Esme let out a whimper as the numbers ticked ever down.

Judging from the shadows under Halt's eyes, he hadn't slept. The coffee mug in his hand attempted to make up for it.

Will had slept like a rock, but he downed two mugs anyway. He doubted coffee beans would be provided in the Cornucopia.

He emptied his mug and went back for a third. "Any last advice?"

Halt smiled grimly. "Stay alive."

Gilan ran outside. Tug was rearing in the clearing Ranger horses were kept in when not in use.

"Easy! Easy!"

Tug came down with a snort. _Will is in danger. Where is he?_

Gilan swallowed hard. Some things were hard to explain to a horse. Especially a Ranger horse.

"Some men came and took him away," Gilan admitted.

 _Why didn't you stop them?_

"I couldn't."

Tug snorted again. He didn't think much of this 'couldn't'. _Let's go after them, then._

"He's too far away. We'd never reach him in time." And I'm arguing with a horse now. Of course, he did that with his own horse all the time, but that was different. He was arguing with another Ranger's horse, which was surely the first sign of insanity.

 _I can go as fast I need to_. Tug butted him with his head. _Open the fence and let's go._

"It's not allowed."

Tug rolled one big eye down to look at him. _You're a Ranger. Since when do you care about what's allowed?_

"He's my friend too," Gilan said quietly. "But right now we can help him best by staying here. Halt's with him. He'll help as much as he can."

Tug made a noise that was almost a sigh.

"I know. I'm worried about him too." Gilan patted the horse on the neck and moved to go back inside.

 _Where are you going?_

How did one explain television to a horse? "There's a sort of . . . message system . . . that'll let me see what's happening."

Tug looked at him.

"No! You can't watch!"

Tug continued to look at him.

Gilan threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! Come on." He unlatched the gate. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Red threw her arms around Granny. She could feel tears welling up.

Granny patted her on the back, then stepped back to look at her properly. She nodded. "You'll do fine."

Red must have imagined it, but she could have sworn she saw tears in Granny's eyes.

Rumplestiltskin crouched next to his son. "Be careful, Bae."

Baelfire nodded. "I will." He threw his arms around his father. "I love you, papa."

"I love you too." He clung to his son for a moment.

Bae took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before a sudden doubt entered his eyes.

"Will you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"If I don't make it out - if I don't - don't do anything . . . You know."

"It won't come to that."

Bae set his chin stubbornly, but the woman caught his eye. She nodded at him as if to promise she would keep him under control. He sighed in relief. She pulled him tight for a moment, then let him go.

Elsa pulled at her gloves, hoping against hope that she would get to keep them. Hans was talking to Oaken. Flynn walked up to her. Gothel was nowhere to be seen.

She frowned at him. He smiled cheerily back. "I'm your new mentor."

Her frown deepened. "How is that even possible?"

He winked at her. "I told you. My smolder's a weapon of mass destruction." His eyes became more serious. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Neither am I."

Anna sat in school, staring at the muted television above the teacher's desk. An assessment of each tribute's odds was flashing across the screen. The student in front of her was blocking her view of Elsa's.

She leaned to her left. The desk leaned with her. It tumbled over in a tumble of plastic and limbs.

"Sorry," she squeaked.

Jack looked out over the loot he'd managed to steal since the journey'd begun. He'd have to leave it behind, of course. It was of no use to him now.

He sighed as he looked at the glittering gold lying on the bedspread. He could take one thing for his district token.

His eyes swept the bed. Gold, diamonds, money, and, of course, the obvious choice.

Captain Jack Sparrow swept up his hat and went to wish luck to Tia Dolma.

Gandalf had it on good authority that most mentors had a hard time getting their tributes to eat the morning before the Games.

Gandalf generally had far more of a problem getting them to _stop_. Nothing known to man or wizard had ever been known to dint the appetite of either dwarves or hobbits, and their enthusiasm was catching. If anything, imminent peril seemed to make them hungrier.

"We're going to be late," the escort worried.

"I am never late." Whatever time a wizard arrived was precisely the right one. Whether or not it was the time that had been _expected_ was irrelevant.

Peter cupped shaking hands around Tink. "You're going to have to stay out of sight, all right?"

Tink sulked. "No."

"Please?"

Still pouting, she heaved an enormous sigh and zoomed into his pocket. He patted it gently.

"What are you going to do if the clothes they give us don't have pockets?" Molly asked.

He shot her an annoyed look. "Don't ask stupid questions."

By which, it was generally understood, it was meant ones he couldn't answer.

Niall was picking at a scab on his arm. It was annoying. If he hadn't been her district partner, Juliet would have been planning to kill him in the bloodbath.

Instead, she sighed, and looked at the wall of the hovercraft. She wished it would land already. She must not have had enough water with breakfast. Her mouth was getting dry.

Artemis leaned forward on the couch. "Ten minutes."

"Congratulations, Mud Boy. Your plan worked."

He laughed. "This was the easy part, Holly. Now the real fun begins."

Arthur was handed a set of grey clothes. Durable pants, short sleeved shirt, and a warm looking hooded jacket. He interrupted his twittering stylist. "A little privacy, please?"

The stylist wavered for a moment, then shrugged and walked out the door.

"Merlin? You there?"

"Right here. Ready for battle?" Merlin's earlier case of nerves must have disappeared.

Arthur changed quickly. "Of course. When have I not?"

"Well, there was that time you got beaten by a girl."

A sudden vision of a tournament proving ground, the concept not actually that much different than this, appeared in his memories. He was fighting a blond woman in black armor. He frowned. "Didn't she turn out to be a witch?"

"Yes," Merlin admitted. "But she was still a girl."

Arthur rolled his eyes. Then he looked at the tiny platform that would take him to the surface. "How are we both going to fit on that?"

Merlin was silent for a long moment. "Er. This is going to be awkward."

Arthur stared at him - or the area where he thought Merlin was anyways - incredulously. "You didn't think of that?"

"Of course I did. I'm a sorcerer. We think of everything. Now shut up and let me think."

"You're fortunate I don't have anything to throw at the moment."

"Sixty," a cool voice said over an unseen intercom.

"Right," Merlin decided. "We're just going to have to squeeze in."

"I am not squeezing onto that platform with you!"

"Fifty-five."

"No choice. Just do it!"

Arthur sighed but walked forward.

"Wait!" Merlin grabbed his arm.

"Now what?"

"We have to do it together so the tube won't come down and lock one of us out. On three. One. Two. Three. Now!"

They stepped onto the platform. A glass tube shot down and forced them even closer together.

Arthur was pressed up against the glass, Merlin pressed against his back.

"Forty."

This was going to be a long forty seconds.

"Thirty."

Red thought she might throw up her breakfast.

"Twenty."

The tubes began to rise.

"Ten."

They emerged in the arena and blinked at the landscape. A fantastic skyline of buildings and strange twisting shapes rose around them. The ruins of buildings and rides stretched out from the intersection where the golden Cornucopia lounged.

"Nine."

Trash lay scattered across the street and intermingled with the lifesaving gifts that stretched out from the Cornucopia's mouth. Shelock's eyes catalogued his options, scanning for what he could grab and what would be his safest way out. The arena had worked out well for him.

"Eight."

Gimli met Eowyn's eyes and gave her a cheerful nod.

"Seven."

Will set his legs to run for the Cornucopia, teeth gritted. The arena could have hardly been worse.

"Six."

Edward knew better than to stay for the bloodbath. He prepared to escape temptation.

"Five."

Merlin balanced precariously behind Arthur on the pressure plate.

"Four."

Alyss stared unblinking at the screen.

"Three."

The very last bets were placed.

"Two."

Caesar's commentary on the arena continued. "Ruins of an old so called "amusement park" have been recreated here in a more efficient model and, of course, with a few delightfully lethal modifications. Much of the inspiration was drawn from the once famous, now all but forgotten, Disneyworld."

"One."

The buzzer rang.


	24. If I Die Young

The cameras rolled. Glittering red eyes snapped open to capture every blood soaked detail. They watched all. Saw all. And they cared not a bit for the lives that were about to snuffed out.

. . . . . .

Camera One

Edward ran. Not as fast as he was capable of, naturally, but as fast as he dared. The siren call of this much blood would be irresistable once it started spilling hot and sweet on the ungrateful street. He didn't bother grabbing supplies he wouldn't need. He just ran for the nearest storefront, desperate to put something between him and the forbidden fruit.

. . . . . .

Niall shot forward, eyes locked on the prize. Swords of the finest Capital steel glittered at the top of a mountain of supplies. His fingers itched to wrap around a hilt and put it to work.

. . . . . .

Camera Two

Mary sprinted forward, leaving behind forever the vulnerable and "sweet" shield she'd hidden behind for so long. It was time for the payoff.

She outdistanced Niall easily. She didn't bother with the lesser prizes scattered benath her feet. She would stop only for the knives lying so prettily at the very mouth of the Cornucopia.

The others were a blur of color, too far away to be a threat yet. She snatched up the knives and whirled. Niall was three paces behind her now. She pressed her back against the safety of the side of the Cornucopia. He blew past, convinced she was no threat.

She buried the first knife in his back.

He fell, yanking her knife from her hand. She crouched down and yanked it out. He was still breathing. She hadn't hit anything absolutely vital, but he was incapacitated for the moment. She rolled him onto his back. Quickly, quickly.

Wide eyes stared up at her fearfully. His mouth moved soundlessly.

She drew her blade across his throat and leaped to her feet.

. . . . .

Natasha all but flew forward. Three to her left, Clint did the same. He scrambled up the mountain of goods to grab a quiver of arrows and a bow. He would cover her.

She snatched up two long knives and spun to see Juilet all but on her, a steel rod in her hands. Juliet swung it at her head.

Natasha dived to the side and rolled to her feet. She threw one of her knives. Juliet knocked it aside with her bar.

An arrow buried herself in Juliet's knee. Natasha sprang forward as the girl stumbled and buried her second kniffe in her throat. She didn't bother retrieving it, instead grabbing another two from a jar.

She shouted a thanks up to Clint. He flashed her a thumbs up.

One down.

. . . . . .

Camera Three

Hans had the misfortune to be closer to the tail of the Cornucopia than the mouth. He ran anyway.

No one noticed him. He was just another figure in the chaos, and and not a particular threatening one at that.

He tripped over a corpse at the edge of the Cornucopia. His grasping finger caught hold of a short's sword hilt. He tugged it out from the stack.

Mary was just ahead of him. He lunged forward. The sword pierced her back and went clean through her heart. The sword tip came out red and glistening on the other side. He tugged at it, but it had gotten caught in her rib cage. He let the body fall to the ground and by planting his foot on her back, he managed to pull it out.

Who was next?

. . . . . .

Eowyn managed to grab a sword when the archer wasn't looking. She grabbed an axe while she was at it and tossed it to Gimli who was still valiantly puffing forward. She slung a leather satchel heavy with supplies over one shoulder and tossed another in Gimli's direction. Time to go, before the archer saw her.

Hans pulled his sword out of the girl's back. Eowyn's eyes narrowed. The coward. She ran forward with a cry of challenge.

His eyes went wide as she swung her sword at his neck. He stumbled backward, but it nicked him, a small drop of blood welling up. He swung desperately, but she parried easily and thrust her sword into his gut.

His weapon clanged against the pavement. She struck again, through the heart, to save him from an agonizing slow death, little though he deserved it.

An arrow whistled over her head. She turned and ran.

. . . . . .

Camera Four

A Ranger's bow and set of knives, one saxe and one throwing, perched temptingly just ahead. Will ran for them, hoping Cassandra would hang back as they had agreed.

The bow was already strung. He threw the knives into a nearby pack and slung the lot over his shoulder. He snatched up a quiver of arrows and nocked it.

A slight whistling alerted him. He flung himself to the side. Pain sliced through his cheek as an arrow grazed it.

He grabbed the arrow from the pavement. An extra could come in handy. He hiked his pack up for what little protection it could offer and ran, looking for Cassandra. Where was she?

Jack sprinted across his line of vision for a moment, loaded down with supplies, sporting an old fashioned sword, and screaming like a maniac. His district partner laughed at the edges of the chaos before disappearing into one of the gift shops.

There! Cassandra was darting forward, gathering goods on the edges of the bounty. Will cursed and ran for her.

The girl from two got to her first. She threw a knife end over end towards her target.

"Cassandra!"

Cassandra looked up in surprise. The knife hit her ankle hilt first, a clear miss, but a costly one. Cassandra shrieked and stumbled, clutching her ankle.

The girl from two was preparing another knife. Will let loose his arrow.

It buried itself in her back. Will nocked another one, scanning for more threats.

"Molly!"

Her district partner ran towards him, murder in his eyes. Will took aim and fired the arrow.

Peter leaped impossibly high in the air and swooped forward. Flew. Flew forward.

Will gaped for a moment then frantically let loose two more arrows. Peter dodged the first, but the second hit him in the knee. He tumbled to the ground.

The dwarf, unnoticed till now, swept his axe down on the boy's exposed throat. The head rolled away. A small light appeared, then went out.

Will felt sick. He ran towards Cassandra. "Can you walk?"

She looked pale but she nodded determinedly and pushed herself to her feet. "Oh!"

"Just go slow. Keep your eyes ahead and warn me if you see anything. I'll cover us."

She limped forward. Will kept his bow ready and his gaze on the tributes still fighting it out.

He'd have given anything to look away.

. . . . . .

Camera Five

Sherlock grabbed a canteen of water, a box of crackers, a blanket, and a length of pipe. He crouched and quickly rolled his finds into the blanket. No one paid him any notice.

This done, he ran towards a contraption in the distance that intrigued him. It looked like a wheel thrust upward into the sky. It would be as good a place to head towards as any.

. . . . . .

Red was fast enough to have made a run for it, but the metallic tang of blood was already too thick to risk it. She grabbed up a tiny green pack and an overlarge red jacket from the fringes before sprinting away, thick sobs already stealing her ability to breathe. So much blood.

So much meat.

So much temptation.

. . . . . .

Baelfire followed instructions. He grabbed a bottle of water and ran for it, disappearing quickly down the street.

. . . . . .

Camera Five

Leah hadn't trusted herself in a fight, but she hand't been able to resist all the glittering goodies. She'd compromised, running in just far enough to snatch up a manageable plastic box.

An arrow grazed her leg. It was already starting to heal as she ran away, the box safely in her arms.

. . . . . .

Arthur came late to the fight. His placement had been against him. He was just in time to see Gimli and Eowyn retreating togehter.

Of course, he didn't really notice that because he was too busy jumping back from Morgana's sword thrust. It cut through his cheek. Warm blood welled up distractingly.

"Morgana!" he shouted.

Her eyes burned with hatred. "Today you die, Arthur Pendragon." He was still unarmed. She thrust her sword forward again.

"Forzare!"

Morgana was thrown backward to the edges of the platforms they had risen from. Terrified, she fled.

"I thought we were going for subtlety!" Arthur shouted as he armed himself. Sword, check. Dagger, check. No crossbows. He grabbed a backpack instead.

"Change of plan!" Merlin shouted back. "Let's get out of here!"

Arhtur scanned the fight. The tributes from nine were disappearing into an alley. The only combatants left were the two from ten and the blond girl from five. "We can take them."

. . . . .

Elsa ran forward, diving for a weapon.

Pain erupted in her leg. She screamed and panicked.

Ice blasted from her hands. Frost danced up the Cornucopia. Ice coated the goods still inside, locking them together and rendering them unusable. Clint slid down the suddenly slippery slope and skidded across the now frozen pavement.

The remaining tributes stared at her. Ice slowly spread across the corpses still lying limply on the street. The blood beside them turned the ice a rage filled red.

The tributes fled. She gasped in pain, still on the ground, alone within seconds.

The cannons rang out in the suddenly frozen air. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

A hovercraft appeared and began playing tug of war with the now frozen pavement.

Elsa heaved up her breakfast. She scrabbled to her feet and ran away as best she could, her leg betraying her every other step. So much for staying hidden. Tears obscured her vision. She picked her way towards a sign. This way to Splash Mountain.

A mountain. Yes, that sounded like the perfect place for a monster.

She limped on.

. . . . . .

President Snow stared at the screen, his face a mask. Inside, he raged. Someone would have to pay for this.

His secretary came on the line. "Sir, we may have a lead on the person responsible for this."

"Good," he snarled. "I want it at once."

. . . . . .

Artemis Fowl sat stunned in his living room, staring at the wall.

Somehow, the plan didn't seem so flawless after all.


	25. Home, Sweet Home

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

"Six," Gimli grunted.

Eowyn nodded, face pale. "Which way now?

Gimli scanned the debris scattered street. Despite the rubble, Eowyn felt exposed. The street was too wide and had too few turnoffs. Someone could be right behind them.

Gimli's face lit up. "There! A mine!"

A faded sign over a complicated series of walkways announced the Seven Dwarves Mine Train. A rusted metallic track curled in and out of a faux wood building.

Eowyn doubted it was a real mine, but if Gimli thought he could fortify it, she didn't have any complaints. They headed up the ramp.

Elsa limped more or less north. Her palms tingled from her earlier theatrics. The rest of her just felt numb.

Failure. Monster. Freak.

The sound of falling water eventually caught her attention. She looked up to see a dramatic waterfall of polluted water crashing over a miniature mountain. As she got closer, the water started to freeze over until the whole thing was captured in icy splendor.

A twisting ramp led upward. She walked it, ice forming on the path behind her and trailing behind her fingers on the railing she was forced to lean on for support.

The walk was exhausting, but when she got to the top, she let loose an icy blast, her first intentional one for a long time. Ice formed a wall behind her. No one would be getting through that any time soon.

A railing separated her from a line of boats now frozen in the water, but one of the gates was open. She stumbled through it and laid down in the bottom of one of the boats.

Tears leaked out of her eyes as the sun's last rays disappeared. The sky suddenly looked very dark.

Trumpets blared. Faces started flashing across the sky.

Juliet Butler. Niall DeMencha. Molly Aster. Peter Pan. Hans Southson. Mary Moran.

The faces vanished after a moment, but it didn't matter. Their faces were carved into the icefall below. Forever captured, like the water, in one frozen moment.

Will slipped back through the doors to report the deaths to Cassandra. She sat clutching her ankle near the balcony of the second story. The rough binding Will had been able to create hadn't done much good.

He checked it one more time. "Is it feeling any better?"

"No." She bit her lip. "I can't run, Will. Not like this. I could barely limp here."

Here, Will knew was probably still far too close to the Cornucopia, but maybe it wouldn't matter. Nearly all of the Careers were dead. There might be no hunting pack tonight. Either way, it had been clear that Cassandra could go no further.

He tried to change the subject. "Did you get a sling, at least?"

"No. So I can't fight either." Her lips were trembling slightly.

"Guess it's a good thing I got the bow then," Will said with forced cheer.

Something rustled. A lot of somethings. Dark eyes glinted.

Will reached for his bow. Cassandra clicked up the flashlight she had scavenged to a higher setting.

Will relaxed. "Just bats.

Lots of bats. Hanging from the ceiling. Bats that were rather large.

A sudden sense of unease settled over Will. "Cassandra," he said carefully. "Do you think you could crawl towards that door to the kitchen?" He didn't want to risk standing.

She frowned but started forward.

Will was left with a harder choice. He couldn't crawl and hold his bow ready at the same time. He lowered it slowly and started to sling it across his back.

That's when they attacked.

A flurry of dark wings descended on them. Will jerked his bow free, but there was no time to grab an arrow. He swung it like a club and knocked a bat out of the air.

The others tried to settle on him. The force pressed him down, smothered him. He let out a shout and dropped to the floor rolling. They came loose, screeching.

Cassandra was screaming. "Go, go, go!" he yelled. He dropped the bow and drew his knives. He started slashing at the bats as they swarmed him.

One swooped towards him, claws extended. He dodged to the side and it slashed his sleeve to ribbons, just missing the skin.

He forced his way forward. Cassandra rolled through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. He followed her, still slashing at the mutts.

The bats tried to follow them. Will ran for a table. He shoved it across the floor and against the doors. They shuddered but held.

A screech from behind him. He spun and threw one of his knives. It hit the mutt in the eye. It dropped and shuddered before going still.

Cassandra was lying beside it, hand gripping her arm. "It got me," she said through gritted teeth.

"Let me see." He knelt beside her. The sounds coming from the door were distracting, but he pushed them away.

She moved her hand. A line of gashes had raked her arm. They frothed with something green.

Will swallowed down the urge to throw up. "Poison. Their claws are touched with some sort of venom."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. No, I'm fine. We've got to do something for your arm."

"What?" She looked at him hopefully.

Will looked around wildly. They had left most of their supplies outside. Even if Halt could and would get a sponsor, there was no way for a parachute to get down here.

Cassandra went through the same thought process. "Maybe it isn't deadly."

"Maybe. How does it feel?"

"It doesn't hurt," she assured him. "It feels kind of numb, actually."

Will felt cold. "Can you move it?"

She tried. Her fingers twitched. That was all.

She went pale. "It's spreading," she whispered.

No. No. No.

"We could - " Will swallowed and tried again. "We could try amputating it."

She closed her eyes. "I'd just die from blood loss." She was shaking. "I'm going to die."

"No," he said, more out of reflex than conviction.

She shuddered. "It's spreading fast, Will."

He wrapped an arm around her. Her skin was already fever hot.

No. No. No.

A small, detached portion of his brain thought things through. Paralysis. It had started in her arm and gotten into her blood stream. When it reached her heart, or her lungs, it would kill her.

He could see her fighting back tears. Her breath was coming in short gasps.

He wasn't sure how long it lasted. The bats kept thumping uselessly against the doors in a nightmare rhythm. Cassandra got weaker and weaker.

They talked. Private things that should have been between them but that were certainly airing all over Panem.

Will held her. He started crying at some point. Horace should be here. Horace should get to say goodbye.

But Cassandra just got weaker and weaker until suddenly the thumping outside had stopped and a short gasp came out of her lips and her eyes grew frantic. He could see her struggling to breathe. Trying and failing.

"Shh. Shh." A sob tore out of his throat. "Shh."

She went still.

A cannon cracked the air.

Sobs wracked out of Will. Bit by bit they stopped until only a thin line of tears trailed down his cheeks.

His eyes went hard. He laid Cassandra down gently and arranged her as best he could. He gathered up his knives and shoved the table out of the way.

He strode out the doors. The mutts were nowhere to be seen.

He leaned down to pick up his bow.

He very much wanted to shoot something.

The Gamemakers played with the footage, splicing moments for the highlights reel. The one in charge of the hovercraft glared at the screen in frustration.

"How are we supposed to get the body out? The least he could have done is take the body out of the building!"

Halt stared at the man and imagined how he would look if throttled. "Somehow, I don't imagine he was thinking about your convenience."

Halt stormed out.

He didn't want the Capital to see him weep.


	26. Candles in the Dark

There was a special morgue where they prepared the fallen tributes. The night watch was preparing those who had fallen in the first bloodbath.

A junior worker jumped. "Sir! Sir, something in this one's pocket is moving!"

The senior worker rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous - Well, what do you know?"

Tinker Bell zipped out of Peter's pocket. She hovered over his face, tugging desperately at his hair, her bell like voice frantic.

The senior worker reached out and caught her. He held her up to his eyes. "Ah," he said quietly.

He squeezed.

A quiet crack came after just a moment. Tink fell limp.

"Sir!"

"Orders, Duff. Best not to mess with anything strange from the districts. Just get rid of it and write it up in the report." He tossed him the limp body.

Duff caught it, looking slightly sick. He waited until Dr. Monroe had turned his back before gently laying the tiny corpse on top of her friend. He crossed her arms and closed her eyes as best he could. An echo of true joy, something he had never felt before, tingled through him.

He dashed tears from his eyes. The light had been beautiful.

Now it was gone.

It rained the day Peter Pan flew for the last time. The wooden box he'd been laid in was thumped down on the landing pad with less care than a crate of scrap metal. The boys from the orphanage stood around it as Leonid Aster, with a great deal more care, pried the lid up.

Peter laid there quietly. So did Tink.

"He's not really dead, is he?" James asked, lip shaking. "He can't be, right? He can't die."

"He couldn't grow up," Leonid corrected quietly. "He couldn't grow old. There's a difference." He smoothed the boy's hair out of his face. "I'm sorry, Peter. We failed you for the last time."

He went pale as the second box was laid out. He didn't even have the strength to lift the lid. He just fell to his knees beside it and wept.

"He can't be dead," Ted said. "He just can't be."

Peter had been tired. Wearied. Wounded. He had been selfish, thoughtless, and reckless.

He had also been brave, loyal, and capable of imagining - and creating - more impossible things before breakfast than any grown up queen could possibly imagine. He had been the best and worst of every child. He had possessed that hint of magic everyone wanted to believe in.

He was dead now. And he had taken all of that - that last hope for innocence, that last thread of wonder and magic - with him.

The stars seemed darker without him.

Holly followed the trail of destruction out to the garden. At least he was outside. She wouldn't have to ask for an invitation.

"Hey, Mud Boy! There you are."

Artemis sat slumped against the house's wall. Tear stains streaked down his cheeks. He looked very, very young. There wasn't a trace of his usual smugness evident. Holly's heart broke a little for him.

"Artemis. You okay?"

He shook his head slowly. "Why did they have to die, Holly?"

"You know why."

"Why did I have to kill them?"

Holly knew the feeling. "Because both of our governments are made up of idiots." She slugged him on the arm. "Can't let it get us down, though, right? Got to keep going to step five hundred seventy-three of your evil plan."

He looked up at her. Well, down, really. "Evil?"

She winced. "Expression, kid. Didn't mean it." She looked at his tear streaked face. "Oh, kid."

She offered him her shoulder. He cried on it for a long, long time.

Hans' brothers hadn't volunteered. They hadn't wanted to.

They hadn't wanted to see the cheap wooden box be walked down Main Street either.

They took it up on their own shoulders.

It was raining that night.

That's why their faces were wet.

Surely.

John cried unashamedly. Mycroft stood with him at the funeral, and, to his surprise, caught himself tearing up. Mycroft hadn't really known Mary all that well.

But then, it wasn't her face he was seeing in the coffin.

Duncan didn't take his daughter's death well. The smashed objects scattered around the living room were Alyss's first hint.

Finding him sobbing in his office was the second.

He looked up, snarling, when he heard footsteps, but he cut himself off when he saw who it was. There was a reason Alyss had been the one to come instead of, say, Gilan. He would listen to her more readily.

"Sir?" She bit her lip. "Hor-Horace and some of the others wondered if it would be alright to-to come over. To remember her together."

Duncan looked at her for a moment, empty now that his wounded bear persona had been forced to fade away.

Then he nodded.

It was a long night. A hard night. They wept for the one who had forever escaped the Capital, and for Will, still in its grasp. They remembered the good times and the bad and the plain embarrassing. Alyss held Horace as he shook with sobs.

When the clock struck midnight, Alyss got up and looked out the window. It was so dark out there. Such a menacing, deep darkness, like the one that had swallowed Cassandra up in her final moments.

Alyss was a practical girl. She lit a candle.

One by one, they all did. They walked the streets of the district, rapping on doors, until candles beckoned from every window like tiny hearths for lost souls.

John's pace grew harder and faster the further he walked from the graveyard. No one stopped him when he walked into the Hob and snatched up the first bottle of liquor he could find. The seller probably though he intended to drown his troubles. John had a better idea.

He stalked through the darkness to the head Peacekeeper's house. He splattered the alcohol on the dry, ancient wood that held up one of the walls. It was only then that he realized he'd forgotten a match.

Mycroft had a lighter. Sparks quickly grew into licking flames.

"We should yell fire," Mycroft suggested calmly. "It will deflect suspicion."

John watched the flames. "He's not home tonight."

"Ah." Mycroft watched the hypnotically dancing flames. "In that case, let it burn."

The rain stopped. Finally. Anna lit a torch and set it in a holder by Hans' grave. She nearly set herself on fire doing it, but she managed.

"I don't like what you did," she said. "But you were too young to die."

Her tears reflected the light of the flames.

In the distance in District One, the Career training center blew up. Artemis watched it detachedly from his garden.

"I figured we wouldn't be needing it anymore."

A grin split Holly's face. "That's the spirit, Mud Boy."

The second star to the right went out.

A scientist would tell you that it had actually gone out a very long time ago, and that we're just now noticing it. There's probably some symbolism there if you care to hunt it down. It's enough that on that particular night, there was no more light from it for the earth to see.

James was the only one to notice it. It occurred to him, though, that there was always a second star to the right. It just wasn't always the same star.

A second star to the right was still there and you could still follow it till morning. Neverland is always there. All that changes is the path to it.

A star fell across the sky. It landed in a bird's nest in a forest. A scientist will tell you that's not possible, but scientists are nearly always grown ups, so what do they know?

They'll tell you it's not possible.

James will tell you that he saw four faeries flit across his path in brilliant, joyous light, and he'll swear they took the second star to the right with every intention of going on till morning.

Duff will swear he saw it too.

They say it's better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

For once, maybe that mysterious "they" got something right.


	27. Witch of a Storm

**A/N: Title taken from Peter and the Starcatchers.**

The squat, domed building looked unremarkable, but Calypso could smell the waters within.

They were shallow, polluted, and lacking in salt, but still hers. She strode **A!** in.

She stood on a high walkway far above the glistening canals. She descended as elegantly as if it were a ballroom. She didn't bother with the derelict boats that lay half-sunken in the water. She waded right in, not noticing the chill.

Ripples spread out from her. The water thrummed with her presence. The ripples came back carrying a warning.

Ah. The guardians of this place were hostile, it seemed. This should be delightful.

The water came up to her waist, then her chin. She barely noticed. She just walked on into the tunnel ahead.

Tinny music swept over the waters. "It's a small world after all, it's a small world after all . . . "

The dolls that lined the walls smiled and started walking jerkily towards the water. The horde tumbled in, rusted limbs clawing through the water, steel jaws snapping.

Tia Dolma blew on the water gently. Ripples spread out from her breath. She turned slowly in the water, still exhaling softly.

The breath grew into a gale force wind. Waves splashed against the tunnel walls. The dolls flew up with them and smashed to bits. Parts splattered down with soft patters. Dark oil mixed with the water.

Calypso smiled.

A storm crackled on the edge of her senses. She tilted her head to catch it better. "Little sister," she purred. "You came too late to this weary world. They would have trembled at your name. Let me help you."

It had been so long since she'd summoned up a proper storm. She simply didn't have the power while trapped in this form. But if another started it . . .

The water whirled around her as her power began to build.

"Let it go," she breathed.

The nightmares had come to Elsa through the long night. The ice around her fortress had spread accordingly. There must have been a real sky above the arena this year, because when the nightmares still did not abate, snow began to fall. Left unchecked, the arena would become a winter wonderland. The Gamemakers, unable to stop it, tried to take credit for it. It was, after all, fairly harmless.

Tia Dolma dismisses harmless as boring.

Winds swept up, driving the snow until it was all but a whiteout. Snow mixed with bitter pellets of frozen rain and hailstones as big as her fist. Deadly spears of icicles guarded the roofs of buildings. Thin black ice coated every inch of water it could find. The clouds roiled in confusion over the impossible weather. The tributes huddled together for warmth. None dared to go outside.

None save Morgana.

She walked unafraid through the storm. There was only one thing Morgana feared now, and it certainly wasn't a bit of snow. The ice bounced off her without leaving a mark. The wind only refreshed her. In fact, the storm seemed a bit . . . tame.

She thrust a hand at the sky. A lightning bolt struck the metal scaffolding to her left. Electricity sizzled across it as the thunder rolled. The ice melted instantly and crackled as it fell.

She smiled. Much better.

She stalked through the snow. Emrys was here, yet he'd had a chance to kill her and hadn't taken it. Had he weakened? She snarled. It didn't matter. One way or another, she would defeat him. She knew better than to try and kill him. Knew now, at least. Emrys the immortal. She'd tested that theory thoroughly and was forced to admit killing him was beyond even a high priestess.

But then who said defeat had to mean death?

She would gouge out her brother's eyes. She would cut off his hands and tear out his lying tongue, but only after she'd gotten to listen to his screams to her heart's content. She would leave him mad and beyond the reach of the strongest magic.

Then she'd tie him up in a big Christmas bow and leave him on Emrys' doorstep and watch his face as his last hope was crushed.

She sighed. Happy thoughts could wait till later. Right now there was work to do. There were rival magic workers in her territory. It was time she saw to that.

The sign announced it to be a gift shop. She narrowed her eyes and her vision danced beneath the crack of light under the door to let her see inside.

The girl was using her wand to bedeck the ceiling with streams of gold ribbon. The boy was dueling her with red ones and laughing.

Red. That brought back memories. Red like Camelot.

Red like the color of Arthur's blood.

"Forzare," she whispered. Her eyes flashed gold.

The door flew open. A terrible wailing of some sort of alarm system immediately went off. Cute. But unnecessary. They had probably already guessed that someone had arrived, and she didn't intend to leave them guessing as to who.

She strode in. The force of the magic had blown the girl to the ground. She lay there, stunned.

Morgana grabbed her hair and yanked her to her knees. She pulled a knife from her belt and laid it at the girl's throat. She toyed with it absently. Maybe she should practice before she went after Arthur. It had been a while since she'd tortured anyone.

The girl reached for her wand. Morgana kicked it away.

"Stupefy!"

Morgana ducked the jet of red light easily. "Forzare," she said again.

"Protego!" The blast deflected off his shield and punched a hole through a wall. Impressive.

The girl drove her elbow up into Morgana's stomach. She doubled over, barely missing another stream of light.

"Let her go," the boy snarled.

Morgana smiled. "Of course."

Then she slit the girl's throat.

The cannon roared into the sudden silence.

Then several things happened at once.

Morgana released another burst of force that deflected off his shield and brought down most of the ceiling between them.

Harry let out another curse with a shout of rage. Vicious cuts raked Morgana's side. She let the girl's limp body slide to the ground as choking dust filled the air.

Morgana coughed and made a gesture. She disappeared with a crack.

Harry forced the dust to part just in time to see her disappear. Luna lay like a discarded rag doll.

Harry rushed to her side. "No! NO!"

Even through his tears, he couldn't help but notice that even in death, there was a brilliant smile on her face.

As one Jack Frost would be happy to testify if anyone could actually hear him, there is nothing a spirit appreciates so much as belief.

Luna Lovegood believed in Nargles. She believed in the Crumple-Horned Snorckack. She believed in creatures that could set fire to the ground as they ran.

It was an odd sensation to have a knife at your throat. It was just a cold piece of metal. As long it was in one place, you were alive. If it moved, you weren't. How odd.

Luna's eyes were distant as she considered this. So this was how she would die. How interesting.

She happened to catch sight of a passing nargle. She asked it politely to take a message for her. It was happy to.

Luna Lovegood believed in nargles and snorckacks, in Jack Frost and faeries.

And they believed in her.

A cannon boomed. Xenophilius wept.

And far more than six impossible and very angry things began gathering from all corners of the shattered earth into a storm that even a high priestess of the old religion couldn't hope to harness.


	28. The Beginning of the End

_Jack Frost hung upside down from a window. "Hello, Luna. What're you doing today? Making a dreamcatcher. Nice."_

 _She smiled at him. "Thank you."_

 _Jack stumbled backwards. "You can hear me!"_

 _"Of course I can. Would you hold this for a moment?" She handed him some scissors._

 _Jack Frost hung upside down from a window. "Hello, Luna. What're you doing today? Making a dreamcatcher. Nice."_

 _She smiled at him. "Thank you."_

 _Jack stumbled backwards. "You can hear me!"_

 _"Of course I can. Would you hold this for a moment?" She handed him some scissors._

 _He nearly dropped them. "You - you believe in me."_

 _"You've been leaving me notes for a while now. Was I not supposed to read them?"_

 _Jack whooped. "You believe in me!" He picked her up and twirled her around. In sheer joy, he kissed her before he could think about it._

 _He pulled back, eyes wide. He ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment. "Oops. Sorry." He scratched the back of his neck._

 _"Why?"_

" _Er, probably shouldn't have done that. I mean - Probably shouldn't have just walked into a girl's bedroom, come to think of it. Sorry."_

 _She shrugged. "I wouldn't know. This is the first time a friend has come over."_

 _A grin threatened to split Jack's face. A friend. He glanced out the window. Snow was falling outside. It was dying for him to make a suitably impressive slide out her window and send it curling through the streets._

" _Hey - wanna see something awesome?"_

 **A/N: Sorry, guys, I couldn't resist. Just a little bonus drabble about Jack and Luna's meeting. I kinda ship them. Of course, now Luna's dead, but I needed some cheering up.**

 **For that matter, so do my most of my characters. Although in my defense - wait. I can't tell you about that bit yet. Fiddlesticks.**

 **Now for the fun stuff! Or, you know, the not-so-fun tragic stuff . . .**

Gwen removed Uther's dinner tray. He hadn't moved from the dining room table. He just stared at the television screen, eyes seeing nothing until one of his children flashed upon it. A brief glimpse of Arthur holing up in a back room. A much longer one of Morgana revealing her true colors.

He never said anything, but his eyes had gotten that fragile look, and he was clutching his armrests like lifelines.

"Sir?" Gwen asked hesitantly.

He didn't answer. She took his untouched food to the kitchen.

The cook whapped Merlin on the head with a wooden ladle for daring to steal her pastries.

Gwen stumbled against the door frame. The dishes clattered against the floor. She closed her eyes. I'm going mad. She was shaking. Utterly mad.

Merlin was missing. He hadn't been seen since the Reaping. And Gwen was Uther's cook, not some ill tempered plump matron.

She opened her eyes. The vision was gone. She picked up the dishes with shaking hands. The dreams were haunting her even in her waking hours now. Horrible dreams of fire and blood and death.

Of course, not all the dreams were bad. A small smile played across her lips as she remembered the last one. At least in her dreams, Arthur was a very good kisser.

 _You're going mad, and you're too busy mooning over some boy to mind it. You're a fool, Gwen._

The distant sound of the tributes' latest estimated odds tore her out of her thoughts.

Arthur's were down.

The Great Hall, such as it was, was the favored meeting place of wizards. Cheap folding tables and plastic chairs were frequently covered with paper plates of food enchanted to look more appetizing and the apparatus needed for the various gambling games that had become so popular. Cheating was expected. Wizards competed to see who could best bedazzle the torn cards, the loaded die, or their opponent. The losers frequently went hungry. The winners saved up to get extra rations for their family or tattered spell book pages from the black market.

During the Games, a half-decent television was levitated in and kept running at all hours. Only the most callous or reckless of gamblers dared place their bets on the tributes. There were still stains on the floor from the time Mrs. Weasley had discovered men betting against her Percy.

A crowd of teens sprawled across the floor in front of it, taking comfort in each other's touch. Hermione alternated between leaning on Ron's shoulder and punching it. Ron quickly gave up on figuring out what he'd done wrong and started skipping to the part where he apologized for it.

Ginny sat staring pale and hard faced at the screen, guilt and terror nearly immobilizing her.

Harry and Luna were in danger, and there was nothing she could do to help.

Even the twins were finding little to joke about. There just wasn't much funny about the Games.

After Luna died, there was even less.

The TV exploded into a shower of green sparks a half-second after the cannon boomed. It wasn't the first time a television had been sacrificed to the volatile emotions and magic of teenage wizards. A spare was immediately flipped on. Heads spun frantically as they shoved each other for a better view of it.

"Harry!"

Ron looked over the crowd and heaved a sigh of relief. "He made it out."

"Luna didn't," Hermione whispered. "Oh, Luna . . . " Tears fell freely down her cheeks.

"This has to end," Ginny said in a low voice. "This has to end now. They've taken enough. No, they've taken far too much. It's time to fight back."

The others stared at her. "Ginny," Fred said in a reasonable voice, "it's the Capital. You can't just declare war on the Capital."

"Anything's possible, if you've got enough nerve. We're going to take them down." She turned to walk off. "First meeting of the D.A. starts now," she called over her shoulder.

Fred and George raised identical eyebrows before shrugging and following her. Hermione took a shuddering breath before running off in another direction.

"Hermione! Where are you going?"

"Books!" she called back. "We'll need every spell book I can find!"

The twins had heard. "Who do we know that has a lot of spell books on offensive magic?" Fred - or possibly George - said thoughtfully.

"You don't mean - "

"Who else?"

The twins shared an evil grin before darting out the door.

President Snow looked out over the assembled group of mentors. They sat on either side of a polished wood table, many fidgeting nervously. President Snow sat at the head, hands folded.

"For seventy-three years, Panem lived in relative peace. Our yearly get together here has held together by members by and large swearing off any and all so called "supernatural" advantages. When they have been used, they have been used sparingly and discreetly. This was good. This was safe." He clicked the button that allowed a few choice highlights from the most recent Games to play. "This is neither." His gaze swept down the table. "Mr. Ryder, you in particular owe me an explanation, I think."

Flynn shrugged with the impudent thoughtlessness only a man convinced he had nothing left to lose would dare to use. Snow made a note to punish him properly for it. "I can't report what I don't know about. I had no idea she was so gifted."

"Mm. Fortunately, she, at least, will not be a threat to our peace much longer."

Flynn was half out of his seat already. "What?"

"Sit down, Mr. Ryder. Suffice to say, I have made arrangements. You're welcome to join me at six the day after the full moon for a special viewing. In fact, I insist upon it."

Flynn was desperate. "Sir, she's not rebellious by nature. I swear you can control her, she would be a valuable asset, I swear. Don't take her out of the Games out of hand, sir, please."

"My apologies, Mr. Flynn, but it's as good as done."

The pain Flynn kept so carefully hidden was fast coming to the surface. "Please - "

"If you do not control yourself, I will have to have you escorted from the meeting."

Lupin grabbed the man's arm and forced him down. Judging by the look that quickly overspread Flynn's face, someone had just hit him with some kind of soothing charm. Nimueh, perhaps. He hadn't seen any light flying around.

Thinking of Nimueh - "You said you could control your student."

She looked at him calmly. "It appears I was mistaken."

Snow raised an eyebrow. "You know the cost."

"She'll die, I suppose. What a pity. Woe is me."

Snow's eyes narrowed. She was playing a game of some sort. It would be critical to know what it was before he acted. "Mr. Butler - where is Mr. Butler?"

"Sedated," Irene said helpfully. "The poor man lost it after his sister died."

"Unfortunate." Snow scanned his list. Aster had been given leave to go home. "For once, three's tributes have caused no overt problems. Congratulations."

Gandalf inclined his head. There was an amused light in the lady Galadriel's eyes.

"Captain Morgan, on the other hand . . . "

Captain Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Tried to warn you, mate. You cancelled the meeting. She's one of the old heathen spirits. Powerful. Immortal. Only reason she hasn't let loose yet is an old binding on her, but it's coming unravelled. It needs to be strengthened."

"Perhaps." Panem's presidents told their successors in no uncertain terms that they were not, under any circumstances, to surrender the nine pieces of eight to the pirate lords. Captain Morgan wouldn't be getting them that easily.

"Mr. Gold."

"Our deal yet remains unbroken."

"Good." Especially since their hunt for the elusive bell had been unfruitful so far.

He looked down the rest of the table. Fury was as calm as ever. Halt had withdrawn into a bitter, angry haze, liberally fueled with coffee and grief. He was dangerous, but also vulnerable. Ruby's grandmother had no cause for complaint, and he had none for her. Captain Morgan could be dealt with later. Butler would have to be awoken soon, though. Snow needed information about One that even his spies couldn't give him.

Tonks was despondent. The remaining Marauders were furious.

He dismissed the others and then looked at them coolly. "There's no need to feel so persecuted. Your godson's one step closer to victory, isn't he?"

Sirius snarled. Lupin had to physically restrain him.

Snow didn't flinch. "Full moon's in three day's, gentlemen. I suggest you be ready." He walked out.

Punishments would need to be dealt out, naturally, but if the curse was weakening this much, it might not be enough. He'd have to go back to the source.

He tapped his fingers on the guard rail thoughtfully. At least they finally had a lead, of sorts. Getting Butler to talk might be difficult, but they'd manage.

Time to dig up the Fowl family secrets.

Mr. Gold gave his cane one more twist for good measure. There. The curse ought to be strong enough now. Snow was too shrewd to be duped for long, especially if he was too overt, but then, Gold specialized in subtlety. The curse should be enough to confuse him for a while, force him to make stupid mistakes.

Gold smiled. _I will rip out your heart and squeeze it till you beg for mercy._

Of course, he should probably keep that to himself. He doubted Belle would approve.


	29. Ready the Cannons

Pirates and vaults go together like Shipwreck Cove and a town called Shipwreck. One is just destined to be in the other.

And, in the case of pirates in the vaults, destined to steal everything in them of worth.

The plan for the heist was complicated enough to make Jack Sparrow himself proud. Of course it was; his father had been the one to plan it, and Jack had to get it from somewhere. It had involved a monkey, a can of pickles, and a fresh eyeball, and the details only got stranger from there.

While the others plundered the shelves, Captain Morgan drifted down the aisles. He paused by a seemingly worthless collection of odds and ends thrown carelessly into a hat.

The captain smiled. "Gotcha."

Natasha liked Jack. He was clever. But she wouldn't be able to save Barton by being squeamish, and if anyone deserved to get out of this, it was Clint.

She swung down from the rafters directly into Jack's path. Her ankle protested. Jack's traps had been good.

Her dagger was already going for his neck. He leaped back, arms windmilling.

"Did you miss me?" she asked.

"With such sweet sorrow that I can't wait to partake of it again." He bowed, then jumped into the water.

She jumped after him. The water was shallow, but not as shallow as it used to be. He was swimming away like a fish. She'd never catch him.

He turned on his back and blew a stream of water at her like a whale.

Her knife sliced through the water and hit him in the stomach. Blood clouded the water as he was swept along past the turn.

"It's a small world after all," piped brokenly though the hallways.

"Plenty small enough for me to find you," she muttered, wading through the water.

Will's voice came through the tiny device planted in Captain Morgan's ear. "Jack's been injured. It's bad. The girl's still after him."

Morgan cursed. "Bring me a light!" he roared.

The Capital would be stealin' nothin' else from him. Not this night.

He set fire to the nine pieces of eight. "Calypso," he crooned. "I release you from your human bonds." Let her wrack her vengeance on the Capital. She'd leave an honest pirate lad alone.

Surely.

Jack sank down behind the pyramid, the ever present music hiding a small groan. He had lost her.

Blood was seeping through his fingers. He pulled his hand away from his stomach and glanced down, then quickly put pressure on it again.

"A little help?" he whispered. Come on, Dad. Surely there must be someone willing to pay to save me. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, after all. I have a ship to look after. I'm going to dive for black pearls. I don't care about the money. I don't care what's lurking out there. I just want to sail.

The ocean was the only place he'd ever felt free. He'd dreamed about just sailing off towards that tempting horizon. What could the Capital do about it?

He dared a peek around the pyramid. Still no sign of Natasha. Not on the catwalk, not on the roof beams, not in the water -

Something was in the water. Ripples were sliding through the oily mixture that smelled more like rot than good, honest, sea salt.

"Duck!" The yell echoed through the dark passage. A roar followed it, multiplied by the close walls.

He flinched back. Tia. No, Calypso. Calypso was loose. He shuddered.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Sponsors don't like it when you cry. Would the famous Captain Morgan cry? No. Don't cry. Don't cry.

He pressed his free hand to his mouth. There were screams coming now. Natasha. That boy she was always with that had helped hunt him. Barton.

"Run!" Natasha screamed. Another roar drowned out the echoes of her cry.

The cannon boomed. "Tasha!"

She was going to kill you, he reminded himself. She tried to kill you. The pain in his stomach backed up the sentiment eagerly.

But there'd been something about their fight, hadn't there? Something in the long, twisting fight that had started in his stronghold in the "Caribbean" and ended here in Tia's domain that he'd enjoyed. Something about her banter. Something about how she'd met everything he'd thrown at her. She had been - well, a worthy opponent at the least.

One that may yet kill you, a more practical Jack grumbled.

Boom. Silence followed the cannon shot.

He swallowed hard. Tia - no, Calypso, she was Calypso now - Calypso roared again. The ripples widened. She was coming this way. She was big now.

So his father had done something. He'd burned the nine pieces of eight to save his son.

Jack didn't feel very safe.

How had they done it the first time? He scrabbled weakly in his pockets. Three coins and a monkey's paw from the "Caribbean". The shell he'd found. What else?

A strange, half rotted cup lay at the edge of the water. He snatched it up. Calypso came into sight. Strange dark blood dripped into the water. Natasha's knives were still embedded in her arm. A cluster of arrows had penetrated her left eye. "You," she snarled.

Not good. What else, what else?

But there was no more time. Even if he could have scrounged up nine objects, it had taken the power of nine pirate lords the first time. What could one boy do?

He hurled the monkey's paw at her.

She snarled in irritation.

"Tia, it's me! It's Jack!"

"Son of my captors," she agreed. Her voice scraped against his ears painfully. "You will be the first to die."

"Son of the ocean. Son of freedom," he countered.

"But a Sparrow all the same."

Well, then. Talking had failed. Fighting was useless. There was nowhere left to run. Nowhere to hide. And feeling the pain in his stomach, he knew he was running out of time. The only question left was how he would die.

Jack reached up and touched his hat for luck. It was a good hat.

Then he charged, sword out, feet stumbling on the strange white surface. Calypso surged forward to meet him. She was stronger in the water. But then, so was he. His blood ran out and mingled with the water. Soon, so did hers. Jack and the sea. One and the same.

Two cannons rang out in quick succession.

Jack's hat drifted away.

Calypso watched the irritating boy charge. She felt it when his life's blood poured out into the water.

She was one of the old ones. She was harsh and cruel, but that didn't mean she loved her sons and daughters of the sea any less.

Bravely, he charged forward to die. His sword thrust up and bit into her chest.

An irritation, nothing more. She flung him away. He hit the wall of the tunnel and there was a sickening snap. He fell broken to the water, a toy no longer of use.

Yet out of respect, Calypso shrank. The pain of her wounds grew as she did. Blood rushed in greater quantities from her many wounds.

It took very little acting to collapse into the water. She ordered this form's pathetic heart to still.

Her son was gone. There was no further reason for her to stay.

Captain Morgan stood frozen as Will's increasingly frantic voice reported events.

"Captain! Captain!"

Others were shouting too. Dimly, he noticed the harsh lights that glared from the ceiling. Dimly, he heard the shouting as Peacekeepers pounded into the room and the pirates charged, shouting challenges while the alarm blared. Dimly, he saw President Snow as he was clapped in irons and led away.

Dimly.

 **A/N: Just for clarification purposes: When Calypso refers to Jack as her son, she is speaking in a metaphorical sense.**


	30. Alms for a Ranger

Will stared down at the bat mutt. He'd cut it open and been disgusted to find twitching wires wrapped around and through unnaturally deformed organs.

He considered eating it anyway. He hadn't been able to get any food from the Cornucopia in the bloodbath, and opportunities for hunting or foraging were limited in this arena.

Instead, he turned away, still operating under the cold haze that had descended upon him after Cassandra's death. It smothered most thought, but one bright idea flickered through.

Most of the supplies in the Cornucopia remained unclaimed. True, they were trapped under a layer of ice.

But what kind of Ranger couldn't start a fire?

. . . . .

"Alms! Alms! Alms for a Ranger! Avenge Cassandra! Buy our remaining tribute a loaf of bread! Will Treaty needs you! Come on, Thorn, skip the bar of soap this week, we all know you don't use it anyway. Every little bit helps! Donate now and get your name entered into a drawing for this excellent deer, shot by Crowley himself! Alms! Alms! Alms!"

Horace wound his way through the smoky, crowded atmosphere of District 7's black market towards the corner where Gilan was shouting. A huge black pot for coins sat at his feet. Behind him, a truly impressive buck hung on a spit. A crowd of people had begun to gather around him. Horace had to shove his way through.

"What are you doing?"

Gilan grinned at him. "Taking up a collection. There's not much food in the arena this year, so we've started an initiative to send some in. Hey, Sean, come spell me for a minute."

Sean O'Carrick took up the call as Gilan led him to a quieter part of the warehouse.

"How's it going?" Horace had forced himself to shove all thoughts of Cassandra to the side. He could grieve when Will was safely home. Until then, he turned sorrow into fuel to keep him going.

Gilan leaned against the wall. "Better than you'd think. Will's pretty popular, so the collection's not doing too badly. Plus, most of the Rangers had something saved up for bad times, and these definitely count. The Corps don't have so many apprentices we can afford to throw them away, and we owe Will this. Owe it to Halt too, for that matter."

Horace shook his head in frustration. "I should have been the one in there, not him."

"It was his choice, Horace."

"Kind of wish he hadn't made it with his strikers," Horace said ruefully, rubbing his bruise.

Alyss's silvery laugh came up from behind him. Even laughing, the strain she was under was clear.

Horace turned to look at her. She looked as tired as he felt. He hadn't slept since - since he'd become absolutely certain that he wanted Will to win.

"I just came from the Justice Plaza," she said. "Both the tributes from from 4 and 10 are dead." She shivered. "It was so strange. The girl from 4 didn't even look human." She swallowed. "They're both dead now, so I guess it doesn't matter. Will's safe for the moment. Oh!" She dug in her pocket. "Here. Will you put these in the bucket for me, Gilan?"

Gilan's jaw dropped. "How'd you get that much?"

Alyss gave him a small smile. "I can be very persuasive. And Jenny's selling her pies to raise more."

Gilan whistled. Horace dug into his own pocket. "Here. It's not much, but - "

"Every little bit helps."

Alyss nodded. "I have to get back to work, but I'm helping Jenny some more come closing time."

Gilan looked at her. "Just going to skip sleeping then?"

"Whatever it takes to bring Will home."

. . . . .

After hours of hard work, Will managed to liberate a box of now soggy crackers. No one had come to investigate the smoke, much to his disappointment.

He chewed mechanically. Might as well camp here for the night.

The trumpets blared. Faces began flashing across the sky.

Jack. Tia. Clint. Natasha.

Will stared at the sky for a long moment before slinging his bow over his shoulder. He felt the cold for the first time.

On second thought, he didn't think he could sleep.


	31. Never Say We Die

The sea was cold and grey the day they brought Jack home.

The people of 4 broke the box the Capital claimed held Tia Dolma into chips of wood. She wasn't in it, of course. Even the Capital could not kill the sea. Somewhere in this world Calypso was reforming. Weakened, perhaps, but alive. The more superstitious of the sailors transformed the wood chips into amulets to curry her favor.

That was not to say the box had been empty. Will Turner, the only one of the victors to escape imprisonment by smuggling himself out, accepted a hand up gratefully.

The lid was pried more gently off of Jack's box. They stood by the shore and waited.

A small black dot drifted towards the beach. Elizabeth Swan, the mayor's daughter, waded out and caught it. She returned with Jack's hat in her hands. It was laid on his chest reverently.

The casket was pushed out to sea. As it drifted towards the horizon, a song rose up hauntingly.

"The sea be ours and by the powers,

Where we will, we'll roam . . .

Yo, ho, haul together, hoist the colors high

Heave, ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die . . . "

. . . . .

The head Peacekeeper clicked on his live video feed to the president and used the security phrases that would mark it as important. President Snow opened the link. "Yes?"

"They've - they've starting to sing, sir." He shivered. Even from the safety of his office, just listening to that melody made his hair stand on end. He watched the ripples in the crowd as the news of the Pirate Lords' arrests spread like a dock fire.

He was a seasoned veteran. He didn't gulp.

Much.

"They appear to be collecting weapons, sir. I believe they intend to use them. And I've located Will Turner."

"Kill him." The order left no room for argument, which was what made this so unfortunate.

"That might prove difficult, sir. He's right in the middle of the mob."

"Then get your Peacekeepers into the middle of it with him. I will have someone's head on a platter tonight, Norrington. You'd do well to make sure it's his." The screen went dark.

Norrington stared at the black screen for a moment. Then he looked at the live footage of pirates strapping on enough gear to outfit a force three times their size.

That did not change his duty.

He stood.

. . . . .

President Snow watched the footage and turned up the volume.

"Never shall we die . . . "

"We'll see about that," he muttered.

. . . . .

From his cell, Captain Morgan looked up. He smiled up at his interrogator through the blood that sheeted down his face.

"So it begins."


	32. Till the Sun Goes Down

24:00:00

Fred and George banged on the massive oak doors that guarded the old family home. A few moments later, a witch opened the doors, a smile already dancing on her lips. "Hello, boys."

"We need you to teach us everything you know about curses."

Bellatrix Lestrange's smile widened.

. . . . .

12:00:00

Artemis watched the action in Four from his computer. He took down precise notes in a hand that barely shook at all.

Holly was perched on the desk beside him. "Think they've got a chance?"

He shook his head. "It's too spontaneous. They haven't planned for it nearly enough. If the other districts were ready to step in, it might be different, but as it is, all they can hope for is to bloody the Peacekeepers' noses a bit." He raised his eyebrows as a building exploded. "All right, break the Peacekeepers' noses. Still, the point remains the same. Unless your people are prepared to intervene . . . "

Holly shook her head tiredly. "You know what they're like. The Council can't see anything that hasn't been pounded into its collective brain, which is approximately the size of a swear toad's."

"Vivid," Artemis murmured. "Is that reporter still bothering your department?"

Holly rolled her eyes. "You'd think after the third time Commander Root threw him bodily out the door he'd take a hint."

"Perhaps he'd prefer to take this." Artemis held up a gold tinted jump drive.

Holly took it. "Shiny. What's on it?"

Artemis smiled wolfishly. "Just get it on the air. Every faerie in the Lower Elements is going to want to see this."

"It might take a while," she warned him. "It's not quite that easy."

"Just make it happen, Lieutenant. I want this hammer ready to pound."

. . . . .

02:00:00

In a town where gunpowder had seeped into the very cracks, explosions came easily. Too easily.

Norrington had requested a hovercraft to fight the fires raging all over Four. The request had been denied. Repeatedly.

They had fought through the smoke and finally managed to corner a chunk of the rebels in what had been the tesserae offices. Peacekeepers surrounded the building. One was roaring through a speakerphone for their immediate surrender. Things should be calm here soon enough at least.

A messenger ran up to him. "Sir! They're escaping to the docks!"

Norrington nodded. Beckitt could handle things here. He took off running towards the docks, fighting to ignore the cough hours of shouting and smoke inhalation had brought on.

A bad fit forced him to stop at the corner. He looked back. One of the rebels had come to the doorway as ordered, but their hands weren't in the air.

They were lighting a very short fuse.

Beckitt's gun jerked as he fired a shot. The man collapsed.

And the building exploded.

When Norrington could somewhat see again, he looked around.

He was the only thing living on the street. Bodies of rebels and Peacekeepers alike lay like rag dolls a cruel older brother had burned to a crisp.

He fell to his knees and retched.

. . . . .

01:00:00

Sherlock leaned back against the swaying wall of the ferris wheel car. It was quite an impressive structure, really.

His stomach was complaining, but he had not yet reached critical condition. He had gone without food for longer periods before. Winters could be hard on orphans in 12.

His fingers played with the catch on the locket. He popped it open to reveal a faded photograph of his parents and a single flower petal. He considered the petal for a moment.

No. Not yet. Not until he had no other choice.

John would never forgive him.

. . . . .

00:30:00

Gimli surveyed his defenses proudly. He had successfully blocked off the only path leading to their stronghold with three progressively stronger walls constructed from whatever rubble he could find or create. To complete their defenses, a truly massive stone was positioned to roll onto anyone who got that far. And he had done it all by himself.

Well, the girl might have helped a little.

She had discovered water in the caves of the mine, although Gimli had been disappointed to realize the gems falling through it were illusions. And the jewels the poor dwarves had worked so hard to excavate were fakes. Some wicked magic must have clouded their brains and hidden this from them. Gimli sniffed. It was a sad tale.

On the plus side, he had the mine cars working again. He grinned up at Eowyn. "Want to give it a go?"

She smiled fiercely. "Try and stop me."

. . . . .

00:10:00

The place had presumably once been a restaurant. Tables still stood, both out front and inside. Merlin had shoved most of them out of his way and had spent most of the time since the bloodbath muttering defensive spells.

"What does that one do?" Arthur asked.

"Keeps them from noticing anything unusual when they turn the camera to us. It'll let me take off the cloak if I want to. It's quite a complex bit of magic, really. It would help if I'd had a human sacrifice or two, but the full moon isn't until tomorrow, so . . . "

Arthur stared at him. "Human - " He stopped when he saw the grin on Merlin's face.

An exhilarated scream cut through the air. They both spun to look out the window.

A mine car rushed past on the antiquated track. Blond hair streamed out behind it.

"Well," Arthur said at last. "It seems the neighbors have been busy."

. . . . .

00:00:00

The darkness was familiar. Comfortable.

Thirsty.

72,562.9873 divided by 22,567.5487 was 3.215368593. Multiplied was 1,637,568,750. To the power of was -

Not enough. Never enough. The ocean couldn't even begin to touch his thirst.

He leaned his head back against the wall. His fingers clawed down his face. Focus on the pain. Focus on the smell. Think about anything else.

Think about Carlisle. Don't disappoint him. Not again. Not like this. Think about Bella. She deserves better than a monster.

Thinking about Bella did help, for a while. Even in memory, he could lose himself in her smile.

But then the thirst came back, worse than ever.

Outside, the moon rose.

It was full.


	33. Blood Moon

Merlin stared out at the blood red full moon that seemed unnaturally large in the sky.

"Scared of the werewolves?" Arthur teased.

"Oh, no. I can fend those off easily enough."

Arthur jerked up from his sleeping bag. "They're real?"

"Yeah. There's four kinds, really. There's your true werewolf. Bitten and forever cursed, transforms on the full moon, no control over their own actions. I ran into a few once. Those can be nasty."

. . . . .

Remus tested the chains that bound him to the wall. They felt strong enough now, but he could never be sure what would hold up once the moon had risen.

Sirius drew a semicircle on the floor with his wand.

"What's that?"

"A caterwauling charm. It'll wake me up if you get free and cross it."

"You're planning on sleeping in a room with a raging werewolf?"

Sirius grinned half-heartedly. "Tonight, I think I could sleep in a dragon cage." Dark circles under his eyes underlined his point. He hadn't slept much since the Reaping, and what little sleep he did get was interrupted by nightmares. Lupin could sympathize. Only the full moon or a presidential order could drag him away from the viewing screens or a sponsor table this year. Of course, sponsors had been hard to come by ever since the supernatural had become less "blink and you'll miss it" and more "if you shut your eyes really tightly and hum loudly you might be able to ignore it". No one was sure who Snow would sacrifice to save face, and no one wanted to back a losing bet.

Tonks had accused him of trying to get her out of the apartment. She was right, of course, but when Sirius pointed out someone needed to keep an eye on Harry, she hadn't been able to hold on to her argument. Lupin suspected she just wanted something to do. Luna's death hung over the apartment in a cloud as heavy as Hagrid's little brother.

"I hate this," Sirius muttered, looking darkly at the chains.

"With the wolfbane gone, it's the safest way," Lupin reminded him. Once, his friends had managed to keep him in check by becoming animagi - a feat that was all the more impressive since they'd had only a children's tale for guidance. Sirius alone, however, was not enough to contain him, as they'd learned with nearly tragic results.

Luna was gone. Harry was in danger. What would be left when he woke up?

The question was suddenly made unimportant by the agony that ripped through him as bones elongated and ground together. His spine stretched unnaturally and a scream that sounded more like a howl rose up to the moon.

. . . . .

"Then there're your lycanthropes. They've got a bit more control over themselves, but it's difficult for them. Sometimes they can retain their self possession, but it has a tendency to make them more bloodthirsty. Ruthless. Like Morgana, say, though she's no lycanthrope. They pass it on genetically, but they have to renew it with a bite or a scratch every few generations."

. . . . .

Granny sniffed. Her senses were stronger tonight, although the wolf had long left her. It was in Red now.

. . . . .

Red sobbed as she curled in on herself in an alleyway.

I'm human. I am not a monster. I am not a monster.

Peter's dead eyes disagreed with her.

She didn't feel the change. She never did. All she felt was the bloodlust, the rage, hot, thick, almost tangible.

Kill. So much blood just waiting to be spilled. So many trails to follow. Which one? The one to the metal wheel, perhaps?

A whisper of a thought identified it as a "ferris wheel". She shoved the pesky thing away. It might interfere on her hunt.

Wait! She froze. There was another scent. Another wolf was in her territory. She had to track it down, force it out!

A snarl ripped out of her throat, and she began chasing the scent, leaving giant paw prints in the snow.

. . . . .

"Shapeshifters can more or less change whenever they want, but there are typically triggers, like rage. They retain their personalities but gain some pretty cool abilities. It's said they can read each other's minds."

"Can you do that?"

"Of course. Right now, you're thinking . . . that I'm a genius."

Arthur threw the backpack at him.

. . . . .

Thirsty. He was so thirsty. Blood, blood, everywhere, and not a drop to drink. Not even a rat. Just the polluted blood of mutts that repelled him even more than human food and the forbidden, but tantalizing, delicious, blood in his fellow tributes.

"I know you're there," he called. His voice sounded as smooth as ever. It ought to parched and cracking. Instead, it was the soft velvet she loved so much. Oh, Bella . . .

Leah stepped forward from the shadows, posture defiant. "So what?"

"Distract me, please." Distract me from the blood. Distract me from this agony. Distract me from thoughts of the love that's so far away.

"What?"

He closed his eyes. "I haven't hunted for a month," he explained patiently. "If I don't drink soon, I fear I'll go mad, and by now even wet dog is sounding appealing, so please, distract me."

"Oh." Desire to keep him from losing control warred with desire to defy him. She compromised. "What's it feel like?"

"Like you do, whenever you feel the urge to transform when you know you shouldn't. You feel you'll tear to pieces if you don't, and it's hard to remember what will happen if you do. You just have to hold on for one agonizing moment, though. Then two. Then three. Then a week of them." He sighed. "That's not very distracting."

An unexpected pang of sympathy emanated from her mind. She offered something better. "Quil and Embry are still arguing over whether we're some kind of escaped Capital mutt or aliens that lost our ship in the Dark Days."

What? "Don't you believe the legend?"

"What legend?"

So her tribe had lost it then. It seemed somehow tragic to him that the tales of magic that had survived so much were so close to being extinguished. The Quiletes should know how they came to be.

He told her the story, burning throat or no.

It affected her more deeply than she wanted to show. "What about the third wife? What was her name?"

Edward shrugged. "By the time I'd heard the story, your people had forgotten."

"Typical," she muttered.

A faint smile flickered across his lips. Bella had had a similar reaction. The smile disappeared abruptly. He sprang into a crouch. "Werewolf," he hissed.

She stepped forward aggressively. "What's the matter, leech?"

"Not you," he said impatiently. "Another one. A true werewolf."

"What am I, chopped liver?"

"A shapeshifter. There's a difference. Werewolves would kill their own grandmothers the night of the full moon." He sniffed the air. "She's coming closer. We'll have to kill it."

"She," Leah muttered. "A girl werewolf?"

He shot her a frustrated glance. "Does it matter?"

"Yes." Leah herself was surprised to realize how much it did. She already felt a sense of kinship with the beast. Doubt was assaulting her too though. What if I can't talk to her? What's Sam going to say when I change? Then another thought hit her and she backed off, chagrined. What I am even thinking about? I can't change. Not here.

Could she talk the beast around? Maybe.

"You know," he murmured. "There's been quite a bit of magic thrown around already."

Mind reader. Right. Stay out of my head leech! He's got a point though, doesn't he?

Out loud, for the sake of the audience, and in an attempt to protect the pack, she said, "I'm not going to let you kill her. If there's someone like me out there, I have to find her. I'm tired of being the weird one." Not, she thought wryly, that any of that was a lie . . .

Edward sank back against the wall. "Good luck, then."

She flashed him a fierce grin before morphing into her wolf shape and charging off.

They intersected on the main street. The werewolf charged immediately.

Leah used her superior speed to dodge out of her way.

Sister, she called, we don't have to fight. Run with me. Be my blood sister. Join my pack. A strange weight lifted off of her as she thought the words.

The wolf snarled and came at her, fangs snapping.

Leah dodged to the side again and then used the wolf's momentum against her. The wolf tumbled into a snow drift. Leah darted after it, growling.

Sister! Listen to me. Stop fighting. You don't have to be alone any more. We can run together. Who are you?

Red, a confused voice whispered. Then it disappeared in the snarling rage.

Red leaped to her feet and charged again, but her paws skidded on the ice. Leah stepped forward more carefully. I'm Leah. We don't have to be alone. Run with me. I know you're not the monster you hide behind. Let me help you. I'm your friend.

Friend. Wolves didn't know that word. They had no need of it.

Humans did.

Red took control. Friend?

Friend. Leah let her tongue hang out in a wolfy grin. She took off down the street. Come on. I'll show you how a real wolf runs!

Red snarled, but in a friendly way.

The race was on.

. . . . .

"Then there's the Animagi. You don't see many of those anymore. They're sorcerers who learn how to shift their shape at will and retain their intelligence."

"Such as it is," Arthur muttered.

Merlin ignored him.

. . . . .

The chains were strong.

The wall was not.

An hour before dawn, they ripped loose of the plaster. They heavy links weighed the werewolf down, but that didn't stop him from leaping for Sirius's throat.

Sirius jerked awake and to the side as the Caterwauling Charm screamed. He tumbled to the floor. A loose end of one of the chains swung by and hit him in the ribs. He sucked in breath desperately as the pain flared.

His wand lay halfway across the room. He rolled for it, ignoring the pain, as the werewolf turned around to try again.

He'd never been sure what to call Remus during the full moon. He didn't like to think of him as just "the werewolf", as if his friend had ceased to exist. Yet for those few hours, he effectively had. Lupin, his friend, was gone. All that was left was a ravening monster.

A monster whose fangs were once more aimed at his throat. Claws raked down one of his arm.

Sirius did what any sensible person would have done. He punched it in the snout.

Lupin reared back. Sirius snatched up his wand from the floor.

By the time the werewolf had recovered, the maddening scent of human was no longer connected to a figure in the room. All that was left was a wounded dog, whining in a corner.

The werewolf snarled in frustration and threw itself at the window. The glass shattered and sprayed out around him, mixed with thick, black, werewolf blood, but he couldn't fit through the window. The moon that tormented him and the tantalizing scent of potential kills remained equally out of reach.

Padfoot watched blearily as the werewolf gave up on the window and starting ramming itself against the door. Normally he would have stopped him, but he was so very, very, tired . . .

. . . . .

The sun rose at last. The moon defied it. It hung rebelliously in the air for as long as it could, mocking the safety the light of day promised, before the sun finally defeated it, and it was forced to call its children home.

Leah and Red barely noticed. They were too busy racing across the snow.

Lupin could hardly ignore it. He collapsed to the floor, exhausted by his ordeal, and weighed down by the chains still attached to his arms and legs. Cuts and bruises were visible through the ruins of his clothes, but he had been spared serious injury. The same could not be said for the heavily scarred door, the smashed window, or the tortured chair.

Sirius, still in dog form, lay curled in a pitiful huddle in the corner, lying in a small pool of blood.

"Sirius," he whispered hoarsely. What have I done, what have I done, what have I done . . . He crawled over to him. "Sirius!"

The dog managed to whine weakly.

Hand shaking, Lupin grabbed Sirius's wand from the floor. There was no time to find his own. They'd never figured out the name for this spell, but it worked nonetheless. Within seconds, Sirius was back in his own form. His breathing was shallow and sounded painful.

"Sirius?"

His eyes drifted open after a moment. "How much trouble would I get in if I pretended to be dying for a few minutes?"

"Unforgivably much," Lupin said firmly. "What happened?"

Sirius winced. "Chains hit my ribs pretty bad, and my arm got raked up. No bites, though. You're getting slow, old man."

Lupin laughed, but his stomach rolled. "I'll get some dittany."

"No rush," Sirius said, eyes drifting closed again.

Lupin muttered the spell to open the door only to find Tonks already out there. His stomach tightened. "Is Harry - "

"Fine," she assured him. "I just thought I'd be smart and be prepared this time." She held up a vial of dittany.

He nodded. Be prepared. Be prepared for Lupin to rip his best friend open. "Good. He needs it."

"Okay," she said quietly. She tried to steal a quick kiss before going in, but Lupin flinched away. She squeezed his hand before going in.

He could hear them bantering inside the room, but it cut off soon enough to a hiss of pain from Sirius as the dittany stung the wounds, and Tonks telling him not to be a baby.

Lupin leaned against the wall feeling sick. What kind of monster would do that to his best friend?

. . . . .

"And last but not least - "

"This is five. That's not the same as four."

"Last, but not least, there's the nonmagical kind. Men who are wolves the whole year round. Maneating wolves." Merlin stared out the window for a moment before turning around with a bright, idiotic smile. "Sleep well. Don't let the werewolves bite."

"Come over here, Merlin. I'm going to throw something at you."

. . . . .

President Snow stared through the viewing window thoughtfully. When he had first heard that Butler had been sedated, he had assumed that the death of his sister had sent him into the arms of the drugs that had claimed so many of the other Victors.

In this case, however, sedated meant tranquillized. Repeatedly and forcefully. Starting immediately after he had killed three Gamemakers and critically injured two more.

It was no accident that Butler had won his Games.

His assistant buzzed in. "I've left a report of last night's activities on your desk, sir."

"Excellent. What was the death toll?"

"Zero, sir. All of the werewolves were either contained or controlled."

"Is that so?" He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he walked to the mentor center. Well, that would change soon enough.

He picked up the fragile flask just waiting to be attached to a parachute. As he did, he listened to his assistant reel off the various tributes' statuses. The deal with Mr. Gold apparently remained intact. Good. The vampire, on the other hand, was near madness with thirst.

President Snow smiled as the liquid sloshed in the bottle. "Mr. Ryder. Would you be so kind as to prepare this sponsor gift for your tribute?" He'd have to be sure it was sent past the vampire on its way.

The leech would be sated soon enough.


	34. Queen of Ice, King of Cold

**A/N: Let's chat about reviews.**

 **As a devoted reader of fanfiction, I understand many of the reasons people don't leave reviews. Sometimes you get caught up in a story and absolutely, positively, must read the next chapter NOW, never mind that cute little box.**

 **When the story is yet to be completed and is being updated on a day by day basis, this becomes less of an excuse, particularly when the writer will be the first to admit that their work is not what most people would call suspenseful.**

 **Personally, I always feel pressured to write a review that is witty/well thought out/somehow more substantial than a written "thumbs up". I also generally feel pressure to make the review positive.**

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 **I'm not holding the story hostage. It will continue to be posted at the same rate as it has been. I'm also not trying to sound ungrateful; some of you have followed the story** , **if you're reading this, you've obviously thought it was worth spending time on thus far, and I'm grateful for that. Thank you for that.**

 **But when you've finished this, could you possibly just type off a quick review with a suggestion or two for what you'd like to see in future? Because right now, I'm flying blind.**

. . . . .

He couldn't have saved her. He knew that, intellectually. She was dead as soon as the first mutt buried its claws in her leg. When she fell, she should have stopped breathing; she had been irrevocably doomed. Had he gone back for her, they would have overwhelmed him instantly. Had he somehow managed to carry her away, they would have caught up immediately. Had he been miraculously granted speed or the Gamemakers had called the mutts away, she would have died of blood loss. Had she hung on by her fingertips, she would have been weak and ill, unlikely to survive for long.

She had stopped living the instant she hit the ground. That had not stopped her from surviving an agonized minute more.

A minute where he had looked back and seen her pleading eyes and kept running. A minute where her screams had seared their way into his memory in punishment for his unforgivable act of cowardice.

He knew, intellectually, that he couldn't have saved her. He had run the odds, considered every possible scenario and miracle.

He had done that after he had left the arena. He had done it over and over again, every sleepless night, every time the nightmares woke him screaming. He had not, of course, had time to do that then. He hadn't thought at all, really. He had just run.

Flynn could still see that golden hair thrown back by the wind. He saw it every night in his dreams.

He could still see the gold died red by thick clumps of slowly drying blood. He saw it every night in his nightmares.

Now President Snow stood over him and made him tie the knot on another failed tribute. No, not tribute. The word turned a living, beautiful girl into something to be traded, like a gold coin, or a sheaf of wheat. She was not a tribute. She was Elsa, beautiful and mysterious, powerful and unattainable, and heartbreakingly, touchingly human. She was the girl who had covered the arena with ice, but she was also the girl who had hidden in the rail car when Hans' attentions had become too much. She was the girl with a slow, creeping pink blush.

The silver silk parachute trembled in his suddenly shaking hands. "This isn't her fault. Don't do this."

"An example must be made, Mr. Ryder. She was the one who started this epidemic of the unnatural. Her death will finish it."

No, she hadn't started it. Some invisible force had thrown Morgana back and frightened her into leaving. And careful viewing of the early footage would show that Leah had healed far too quickly from her injury.

Elsa, however, was the easiest to blame. The most visible. The best object lesson.

She was a girl. A girl with a terrified, accident prone sister at home. A girl who had worn work gloves everywhere without a trace of self-consciousness visible.

He crumpled the silk in his fist. "No."

President Snow raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." He stood. "She doesn't deserve this, and you know it. I can't stop you, but I won't help you either."

President Snow smiled coldly. "Where's that practical boy who knew better than to throw his life away with empty gestures?"

"I threw my life away when I chose to run. Breathing isn't the same as living. And I will happily throw my last breath away to save whatever scrap of life I might have left."

President Snow shrugged. "As you wish." He nodded to an assistant. "Send in the spare."

Flynn Rider watched in horror as a slowly leaking vial of blood was lowered into the arena and flown across a vampire's path.

. . . . .

Thirsty. He was so thirsty. With Leah gone there was nothing to distract him, nothing but the smell of -

Blood. Sweet, hot, human blood.

It wasn't a conscious decision to stand. He couldn't not, in the state he was in. He was already running, racing after that life giving vial as it flew away from him, just out of reach of even a vampire's jump.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

The last vestige of rational thought ceased.

. . . . .

Elsa's leg still throbbed and bled from her injury. She lifted the bandage to examine it and flinched when she saw the damage.

Conceal the pain. You need sponsors. Don't focus on how you feel. Focus on victory.

Of course, the faces of all the dead tributes that were carved into the ice below might not endear her to sponsors. The fact that the ice existed at all might scare some away. On the other hand, it might be viewed as power, and she couldn't afford to undercut that power with weakness.

A silver parachute coasted over the waterfall and drifted down beside her.

So she did have sponsors! She frowned a little to see that whatever was in it had dripped onto the floor. Even the Capital couldn't prevent leaks, she guessed. What was it? Medicine? Food? Something red, obviously.

She didn't bother rewrapping the bandage in case it was medicine. She unscrewed the top to the vial carefully, and her frown deepened. It looked . . . very much . . . like blood. Was this some kind of sick -

A blur of motion appeared at the top of her icefall. Panicked, ice shot out from her hand. The blur crashed through it, sending a spray of ice up everywhere.

Something heavy, and very, very, cold crashed into her. Pain, fiery, torturous pain, bit into her throat and spread like fire through her veins.

Elsa summoned more ice. It spread across her throat and licked into her very veins in an effort to stop the fire. She shoved it at her attacker, but the pain went on and on. He growled as the ice spread through her.

She was so weak. So cold. She tried to summon the energy to punch her attacker, but it felt weak even to her. The pain in her hand was nothing to that in the rest of her.

So very, very cold.

Beside her, in the ice, a picture of Anna formed.

Then a cannon boomed and the winter that had spread across the arena ended. Snow and ice melted to water. The great icefall, with its precious record, vanished once more into the ever shifting, polluted water it had been.

Just like before.

. . . . .

The television had been playing all through lunch in District 5. Anna stumbled out of her seat, her eyes wide. A desperate, ugly, keening sound ripped out of her throat.

Kristoff touched her arm. "Anna - "

She jerked free and slammed her foot down on his. Then she grabbed her lunch tray and hurled it into the tv screen before collapsing into a quivering, sobbing, mound.

. . . . .

Flynn stared at the screen, willing it to show anything but what it did. Anything but this. He hunched his shoulders to hide the desperate tears that were welling in his eyes.

Halt put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't say anything. He just plopped down a mug of coffee to help ward off a nightmare filled sleep and sat down beside him.

It was all he knew to do to say he understood.

. . . . .

President Snow was pleased with himself for approximately five minutes. Then he happened to return to his office.

Half of his flowers had wilted. Two had all but completely disintegrated. As miles away, Anna continued to smash things and the Cullens mourned for what their son, brother, and love would soon be feeling, another blackened petal fell to the floor.

. . . . .

The sun had risen, but Leah hadn't seen the need to change back. There was far too much relief in only having to share her thoughts with one person now that she had effectively formed her own pack.

She had found a sister. She wasn't alone.

Red's ears suddenly perked up. She began sniffing at something Leah's nose couldn't quite detect as the wind shifted.

Then she shuffled forward and understood.

Blood.

And vampire.

Leah shot forward just as the cannon sounded.

She had a treaty to fulfill.


	35. Do You Want to Kill a Vampire?

**A/N: Just to refresh everyone's memory, still contending we have:**

 **Gimli and Eowyn from Three.**

 **Red and Baelfire from Six.**

 **Will from Seven.**

 **Leah and Edward from Eight.**

 **Harry from Nine.**

 **Arthur and Morgana from Eleven.**

 **And Sherlock from Twelve.**

 **That's . . . eleven left. Only three more deaths until the final eight! Isn't this exciting? To (mis)quote Effie Trinket: "We've got a big, big, chapter ahead of us!"**

 **Are the cannons ready, Gamemaker?**

 **Gamemaker: They are!**

 **Me: Then prepare to fire!**

. . . . .

The snow was melting to water beneath their paws as they ran. Soon the streets would be flooded with it. Half of her instincts wanted her to go somewhere safe and dry.

The other half wanted her to go kill a vampire.

She was listening to that half at the moment.

Leah explained things to Red as best she could as they ran. She wasn't sure it all came out right. Some things were so deeply ingrained they were hard to explain to outsiders, like why werewolves were redeemable while vampires were not.

 _Why do we have to kill him again?_

 _He broke the treaty. He killed someone._

 _I've killed before._

 _That's different._

 _Why?_

 _You weren't in control of yourself._

 _And the vampire is?_

 _Right_. Naturally, at that moment, doubt struck. Was he? Was he really? Or had he gone out of his mind with thirst? Her wolf form had taken out an elk on pure instinct once before she could stop it. Was this so different?

It had to be. There was nothing wrong with killing an elk. Murder was entirely different.

Different, but not unusual. Not in the Games. Was he worse than any of the others?

Leech. Monster. Kill him.

Polite. Courteous. Patient.

Red could see her doubts, of course. Leah snarled. She didn't have time for this. Not now. They had to kill him and be done with it.

 _Have you ever killed before?_

 _No_ , she was forced to admit.

 _It's not easy. If you're not sure . . ._

Her feelings were irrelevant. They had to do this.

. . . . .

Seth sat at the edge of his seat. "Can they take down a vampire alone? Red can't have much experience, and he's a mind reader. They can still do it though, right?"

"Of course they can," Emily said after a moment of silence. She shot daggers at Sam.

Sam wasn't sure. Maybe they could. But if they did, what would the leech's coven do?

If they lived, it could mean war.

. . . . .

Edward stumbled back from the pale corpse.

 _What have I done?_

He grasped the railing for support, but it crumbled in his hand.

 _What have I done?_

He had failed Carlisle. Failed Bella. Broken the treaty.

He was the monster he'd always feared he'd become.

He fled, trying to substitute speed for thought. Her thoughts, ignored at the time, tumbled through his head now.

Anna. She'd had a sister named Anna. She'd had a life. A family.

She'd had blood. Sweet, thick, hot blood -

He cut the thought off, disgusted with himself. He ran faster.

The Capital would know now what he could do. They would come for his family. The war with the Quiletes would start, and for what? Because of his weakness. His failure.

The scent of wet dog stopped him. Leah was coming for him. Coming to fulfill her part of the pact.

He was reaching so hard for her thoughts, he didn't notice Red's until it was too late.

. . . . .

Red leaped for one of his legs. She prayed her teeth would be strong enough to handle the marble skin.

It tore off easily. The shrieking sound pained her ears. It fell bloodlessly to the street.

Leah streaked forward from the side alley. She leaped for his throat.

He fell, dodging her neatly. Red leaped forward for another bite. He kicked out at her with his remaining leg. She jumped back, yelping.

Leah leaped forward and claimed a hand.

Leah had told her of his amazing strength and blinding speed, but she saw no evidence of it. There wasn't much fight left in his eyes.

He'd given up. Red could understand that. She had been in a similar state right after she'd killed Peter. It made the job that much harder to do, in a strange way.

. . . . .

Leah looked down at the pieces. Sometime in the past few minutes, a cannon had rung out. She wasn't sure exactly when.

She nudged a hand with her nose cautiously. It didn't so much as twitch.

 _Playing dead, are we?_ Only fire could truly kill a vampire.

Funnily enough, she didn't happen to have a match on her. She could try and fine one, she supposed.

But then, why bother?

Dilemma solved.

. . . . .

The Cullens had stood frozen ever since Edward had taken up the hunt. Now they finally breathed again.

"He let her win," Emmett said in disbelief. "Why would he do that?"

"It was the only he could get out," Bella realized. "The only way that wouldn't force him to kill everyone else in the arena." It had been a good plan, but the terrible images of her love's pain still burned in her memory. Had she still been human, she would have been weeping. But vampires couldn't cry. It seemed unfair somehow.

At least her Edward was coming home. He'd be with her again soon.

Alice's gaze was locked on the future. "He'll be back in two days," she announced. A fierce grin twisted her pixielike face. "The Capital won't notice a thing."

. . . . .

Old Quil was worried. The Cullen boy was dead by a Quilete hand. War now would be disastrous, and for more reasons than many knew.

Normally he left the backyard clear at this time of the week, but what could it matter now?

He froze when he saw Carlisle come down the street with a box full of food the Cullens had to buy to avoid suspicion but could never eat. For years, they had been donating it to keep the pack from starving. Ever since Leah had joined the pack, they'd started donating clothes too.

"Good evening," Carlisle greeted him. If he was surprised to have a witness to his kindness this time, he didn't show it. He pulled a slim brown book from the side of the box. "Listening to Leah and Edward talk last night made me realize you might appreciate having a copy of this."

Old Quil took the book numbly. It was a collection of Quilete legends.

"Ah. Er, thank you." He was feeling more and more uncomfortable. "What was the last update you got on the Games?"

"I saw the fight just before I left for here. Why? Has something else happened?" Concern crossed his face. "Has something happened to Leah?"

"No," he said slowly. If the vampire knew then why on earth -

Carlisle smiled faintly at his confusion. "You'll notice Edward was much faster when he was running than when he was fighting. You'll notice that he didn't break Red's ribs when he kicked her. You'll also notice there wasn't any fire involved. He'll be home in a few days." He hesitated. "I'd appreciate if you'd pass the word along to Sam. I'm afraid if I go there now, he'll get the wrong impression."

The old werewolf stared as the vampire walked away. Then he went to tell Sam that they'd be breaking the treaty over his dead body.


	36. Reidenbach

The last of the water was gone. Unlike the food, this could not be shrugged off. Sherlock could, he supposed, try and collect some of the water now that flooded the streets, but the data suggested it was likely to be too polluted to be safe.

"A little help would be nice," he said imperiously.

Had he possessed a less logical mind, he would have sworn he heard Irene laugh as the parachute drifted down.

. . . . .

The spell had been easy enough to cast once she got the idea for it. It let Morgana know every time something entered the arena. Then all she had to do was follow it to its source to find the lucky tribute who had just received a gift.

The spell activated.

The Ferris wheel it was.

. . . . .

Sherlock drank the water sparingly. He had no idea when he'd be able to get more.

He needed a better strategy. Hiding drained his resources without inspiring sponsors.

Unfortunately, hunting didn't much appeal to him either. Natasha might have been interesting to face off against, but he had missed his chance.

The Ferris wheel creaked alarmingly. He peered over the edge of the car.

Morgana stood below, arms outstretched. The metal of the Ferris wheel twisted and protested at her commands.

Magic. How extraordinary.

Weapons: Himself, none. Morgana: magic.

Wits: Himself, advantage.

Solution: Pending.

"Come out, come out, little tribute. It's time to play the Game."

Sherlock stood as if he hadn't a care in the world. The car shuddered. "I'm too old for games, but I know a few three year olds back at the orphanage who might be interested."

She smiled. "Sherlock Holmes. You remind me of someone. An old flame of mine."

The car jerked sickeningly. Sherlock fell back and cracked his head against one of the old seats.

"It didn't end well between us."

Information. Use it. Think. Don't be stupid, Sherlock. Mycroft's not the only smart one. She's lonely. Use that.

"It's hard, isn't it?" he called. "Being different. Hearing people call you a freak."

The metal twisted even further. "You know nothing of what I've suffered," she hissed.

The structure swayed and bent almost in half.

Think. Think. Think.

There was nothing to deduce. She wore what everyone else wore. It didn't matter where she'd been. There was nothing - Ah. But there was.

There was always Plan B. He pulled the locket from his pocket and flicked it open.

The wheel swayed. "Is that the only party trick you've got?" He yawned. "Because honestly, I'm getting bored."

She screamed in rage. A fireball shot towards him.

He ducked out of sight. The metal burned his bare skin, but he ignored it.

He swallowed a petal of the reidenbach flower.

Then he was falling into nothingness.

. . . . .

A cannon boomed. Morgana pouted. "Well, that was disappointing."

Unease swept over her. Had Emrys heard? He could be anywhere. Watching her. Waiting.

Morgana fled.

. . . . .

Irene rose from her seat slowly, the skin around her blood red nails white.

"Call Jim. I'm going to have to cancel dinner."

. . . . .

John was still yelling at the TV screen, although somewhere along the way he had started to weep. Mycroft wondered why he bothered. Why bother with anything at all?

He just sat there, staring at the wall. Sherlock Holmes was gone.

What was it he had told Sherlock when their parents died?

Caring is not an advantage.

That was it. Emotions were frivolous. Useless. Everyone died. Moaning about it wouldn't change that. John was making a fool of himself for nothing.

He sat there, staring at the wall, until the matron was forced to send for the doctor.

He hadn't even noticed the tears trailing down his cheeks.


	37. Two Roads Diverged

**A/N: Fun fact: I hate writing fight scenes.**

 **It has occurred to me that given that fact, a story set in the Hunger Games might not have been the best idea.**

 **Oh, well . . .**

. . . . .

They were down to nine. Gimli and Eowyn were holed up in their fortress. Merlin hadn't seen them since Eowyn's trip around the rusted old track, but there were no signs they had left. He'd caught a glimpse of Red as she went by the night of the full moon. What Baelfire was up to, he didn't know.

Will was still in action, as were Leah and Harry. Morgana had claimed another kill just yesterday. And, of course, Arthur was still in the Game.

It was time to go on the offensive. It would be risky though. Their weapons he could handle. Their magic was laughable.

The consequences, however, were not. There were too many connections this year, set up in a domino chain balancing on a high wire above a land mine. If Arthur was going to unite the districts someday, he couldn't afford to go around killing their darlings now.

An invisible assassin who could make death look like an accident however, would cause no problems at all.

He settled the invisibility cloak more firmly around his shoulders and scratched Arthur a note in the dust.

Going scavenging. STAY HERE.

It was a lie. After all the betrayals Arthur had suffered, he wouldn't appreciate that.

Of course, first he would have to find out.

. . . . .

Arthur did not appreciate being left behind like a child. He might not be the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, but he wasn't helpless either. He was tired of hiding. He was going hunting, and if Merlin didn't like it, too bad.

He grabbed his sword and set out.

. . . . .

Will was out of arrows. The last one had snapped when he'd tried to pull it out of the mutt who had been lurking just past the exit of the so-called "Haunted" Mansion. The whole place had been crawling with them, as had most of the alleyways after dark. Bats and wolves had been popular choices for mutating, although he'd also had to fight off some vultures who'd thought hunting was looking more lucrative than scavenging.

The fights had been satisfying. But they had also ultimately been pointless. No matter how many he killed, the Capital could always send in more. He was no closer to winning the Games, and he'd depleted his best weapon. Will could only imagine what Halt would say to that.

Cassandra was gone. If he wanted to hold the Capital accountable for that, he was going to have to do it in a way more meaningful than taking down a few lab rats.

He would have to win. After that . . . Well, surely he could get his hands on one last arrow.

In the meantime, he still had his knives. He was nearly as good with his throwing knife as he was with a bow, and if worst came to worst, there was always the double knife defense. He hadn't practiced that as much as he should have, but it might be enough.

It would have to be enough.

Will was going hunting.

. . . . .

Nine red dots glowed on the 3D map of the arena. Seneca Crane examined it approvingly.

Two red dots were about to intersect.

"Put a cannon on standby."

. . . . .

Movement. The faintest of rustlings, just past the corner. Silent as the grave, Will ghosted up to the very edge of the building.

He eased his knives out of their sheaths.

Then he whirled around the corner, saxe knife plunging towards Arthur's heart.

. . . . .

One moment the street was clear. The next Will had risen from the pavement to oppose him, blades at the ready.

His jumped back to avoid the attack. He was too slow to avoid it entirely. A thin line of blood dripped down his chest, but it hadn't more than scratched him.

He swung his sword with enough force to cleave the boy in half. Will was already gone, three feet away and ready to go another round.

Arthur shot a quick glance around the street. It was plenty wide enough to give them more than enough room to fight. It was absent of any notable features. It was lined with a sidewalk on either side and long rows of buildings that would be hard to break into quickly. No special advantages or disadvantages to be found in the lay of the land then.

Will's eyes were harder than he remembered them. More distant, less friendly. He suspected the pretty smiling face he'd seen in the sky that second night might have had something to do with that.

Arthur lunged forward, blade swinging.

Will didn't dart back this time. Instead, he brought up his two small knives in a strange formation and caught his blade between them.

As if knives could ever stop a sword. A bit of strength would be all that was needed to push through the blades.

A bit more, apparently.

Surely.

. . . . .

"That's right," Halt muttered, eyes locked on the screen. "Leverage. Leverage is everything. Now finish him off."

. . . . .

Will leaned his weight forward just enough to keep the knives properly balanced. Leverage, check.

Now if only he could remember what Gilan had said to do next.

. . . . .

"Double knife defense," Gilan said. "Clever."

Tug snorted. _Of course it's clever. My ranger's the one doing it._

"What was that?" Alyss asked, voice strained, blissfully unaware of the the other conversation.

"Double knife defense. It's a technique Rangers developed centuries ago for keeping larger weapons at bay by utilizing leverage. I taught it to Will a couple of months ago."

"So he's practiced it a lot?"

Gilan shifted uncomfortably. "Well, a fair bit."

 _Twice_ , Tug corrected. _You practiced twice_.

Gilan didn't think he should tell Alyss that.

. . . . .

Arthur twisted his sword free and stepped back. A notch had actually been cut into the blade from where the saxe knife had cut into it. He narrowed his eyes.

He feinted high then swung for Will's torso. Will still managed to spirit away, but a thin line of blood had appeared on him too.

He was just too cursed fast. He was everywhere with those knives of his.

Thrust. Parry. Swing. Cut. Parry. Dodge. Duck. Roll. Kick. Thrust. Blood. Cut. Parry . . .

. . . . .

He was just too cursed fast, Will thought furiously. Arthur's sword was a blur. The fight had been raging on for far too long now. Will was trained to be unnoticed, an excellent shot, and an expert spy, not a duelist. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up.

The street was no help. There were no handy landmarks to take advantage of. _Unless_ . . .

He started jumping a bit to the left whenever he had to avoid one of Arthur's wilder swings. Back and to the left. _This way. Come on._

He eased onto the sidewalk where the low part met the pavement. Arthur followed him, barely seeming to notice their surroundings. _That's right._

Will started turning carefully until Arthur's back was to the very edge of the sidewalk. Then he pushed forward in a sudden surge.

Arthur's sword came up to meet his blades as he stepped back. His foot came down just a few inches further than he'd anticipated, and for just a moment, he was off balance.

Will leaned into the blades with everything he had. Arthur stumbled in earnest, and Will whirled in for the kill.

His left knee collapsed from under him. He fell to one knee, the two knives now above his head and the only thing keeping Arthur's sword from embedding itself in his head.

. . . . .

The kick had been a desperate, last second attempt, but it had worked. He kicked out again, at Will's stomach. He wouldn't find it so easy to dodge from his current position.

The blow connected. Will fell back, the breath knocked out of him, and the knives loosened in his hands. Arthur pressed forward, and they went spinning from his hands to the pavement.

Will rolled for them but stopped mid turn.

Arthur's blade nicked his throat.

. . . . .

Even the Gamemakers had watched breathlessly.

"That's the best fight I've seen in fifteen years," one of them said in awe.

Another one, less reverently, said, "Pay up."

. . . . .

Halt didn't so much as breathe.

. . . . .

The metal wasn't as cold as he had expected. All the stories described the metal as cold, but it was rather warm actually. Possibly from the thin coating of blood that had accumulated all down the edge.

 _Sorry, Halt. Sorry, Alyss. I tried._ The piece of him that had frozen over with Cassandra's death thawed a little. _I tried_.

He refused to close his eyes. If he only had one moment left to live, then he wasn't going to spend it blind. He followed the sword up to its owner's face.

A smile tugged at the edge of Will's mouth. "I'm ready when you are."

. . . . .

Alyss didn't scream. She wasn't that type of girl.

But the words _No, no, no,_ escaped her with every trembling breath.

. . . . .

He wouldn't look away. He had a sword at his throat and he was smiling.

One little push. One more swing and you've made it to the final eight.

A flicker of memory danced through his mind. He'd killed a man in the woods once, the first time around, for insulting him. It had been a test, but he hadn't known that at the time. What a frighteningly stupid thing to kill for.

Now here he was with even less provocation. Ready to kill just because someone had told him that this was the way things had to be. That this was the way things had always been done.

That hadn't cut it with him last time. He certainly wasn't going to let it slide now.

He slid his sword into his scabbard. "What happened to your district partner?"

Will blinked at him. He eased himself up onto one elbow. "Um. What?"

"How'd she die?"

"Bat mutts. They're venomous." It was plain the memory was still raw. "Yours?"

"Tried to kill me." He offered Will a hand up.

Will eyed it warily. "Am I missing something?"

"I'm not the enemy. None of us in this arena should be the enemy. We know who put us here. We don't have to list every wrong they've done us to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they're evil. Yet we lie, and betray, and torture, and murder one another as soon as that buzzer rings. Once a year, we all get together and pretend that the other districts are the problem." He shook his head. "It's stupid. It's pointless. I may yet die for it, but they can't make me kill for it." He grinned. "Especially not after a fight as pathetic as that. My eighty year old neighbor moves faster than you."

Will grabbed his hand and pulled himself up, glaring, but a smile was threatening to break out at the edges. "Pathetic? The only reason you got me was that since you'd been swinging weak as a baby the entire time, I got caught off guard when you upgraded to toddler. What, did you steal your daddy's sword?" The glare gave way to the smile, and he let out and exhilarated laugh. "I bet the Capital's loving this. Now what?"

"There's someone I'd like you to meet. He should be back at home base by now. Come on."

. . . . .

The Gamekeepers's mouths were wide open.

"He just - "

"He can't do that!"

"Did he just - "

. . . . .

Halt sank back into his chair. He could breathe again.

. . . . .

Alyss let her hand fall from where it had been clutching her mouth. "He's still alive. He's still alive!"

 _Of course he is. He's Will. He always comes back._

"I know." Tears shimmered in Alyss's eyes. "I know." She took a deep, steadying breath.

Even in his stunned relief, Gilan noticed that. "Wait a minute. You were talking to her?"

Tug looked at him. _Why wouldn't I?_

"She's - she's not even a Ranger," Gilan sputtered.

 _Yes, but she's Will's, and Will's mine, so that makes her mine too,_ Tug explained patiently. _Like Pauline is Abelard's._

That was, Gilan thought, certainly a unique way of looking at it.

. . . . .

President Snow clicked the TV off.

This was unacceptable.

. . . . .

 **Note: The title obviously comes from Robert Frost's poem. It's a reference to the commonly held meaning (taking the less frequented road will lead to a very different outcome) to refer to a very unusual choice on Arthur's part. To defend whatever knowledge of literature I have, I know that there are several commonly overlooked lines in the poem that talk about how there was actually little difference between the two roads. I chose to ignore that, mainly because I couldn't think of a better title.**

 **Next chapter coming tomorrow!**


	38. A Murder of Mentors

Victors could generally be put into four categories. There were the sell outs, who succumbed to the Capital's ways. There were the broken ones, who tried to bury their pain in a haze of drugs and alcohol. There were the newbies, who were still learning the rules of this strange second Game. And there were the rebels, who fought back against the Capital every way they could.

Technically, there was also a fifth group. The dead ones. The ones that had pushed the Capital too far. They didn't talk about those.

The rebels had a tendency to gather on the roof when things got tough. This year, they'd been wearing out the roof tiles.

This year there was no one from One or Two there to represent their district, despite their numerous victors. Leonid Aster usually came but was absent this time for obvious reasons.

Gandalf talked quietly to Mr. Gold, despite their usual animosity. Lupin went to try and ease a bit of the bleakness from Flynn's face, elegantly avoiding the frustrated Sirius and Tonks in the process. Granny - even the other victors had a tendency to call her that - greeted Billy, an old friend.

Everyone noticed Four's conspicuous absence. Everyone knew why they were gone.

All of them secretly thought Four's victors would soon be joining the fifth category.

Nimueh had approached a clearly uncomfortable Halt. Fury intercepted Irene as she made her way across the small garden.

Whispers. Hints. Wisps of magic.

All of it sizzled in a cauldron slowly starting to boil over.


	39. Insurgent (Part 1)

Gwen had stood frozen while the fight between Arthur and Will had waged endlessly on. Only now could she return shakily to the kitchen.

He was safe. For a little while longer at least. What if Will betrayed him? What if he killed Arthur as soon as his guard was down?

 _I'll look after him, Gwen_.

Merlin had promised her. But what could Merlin do?

 _Morgana held a sword to Gwen's throat. "I'm sorry, Gwen, but I can never let that happen."_

 _Gwen felt helpless terror bubble up in her chest -_

 _Morgana flew backward, flung by some invisible hand, and disappeared over the railing. Merlin stood at the other end of the corridor. For a moment, there was something almost dangerous about him. A hint of gold marred his eyes._

 _Then it was gone. "What happened?" she asked fearfully._

 _He looked over the side. "I don't know."_

 _Gwen did. She watched the powerful set of his shoulders slowly fade into a more relaxed posture, watched the powerful fury in his eyes give way to a familiar foolish grin._

 _But Gwen knew and said nothing._

 _She wasn't sure who she was trying to protect: Merlin or herself._

She gasped, rushing out the kitchen door into the reassuringly sane air of the outside world. The visions were getting worse. She could still feel the cold touch of the sword at her throat.

She leaned over, gasps turning to sobs. What was wrong with her?

She could hear someone running down the alleyway behind the house. She straightened hurriedly, just in time to see Gwaine skidding to a stop in front of her.

"What's happened? Arthur's not - " Gwaine's face turned grey at the thought.

"No," she assured him, wiping away tears quickly. "No, nothing like that." Why was Gwaine so panicked? He and Arthur had never been particularly close. "Just being silly."

Gwaine breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Good." He looked at her more closely. "I came to steal a pastry, but I'm guessing this is a bad time."

Gwen laughed. "There's the Gwaine I know. I'll get you something."

He swept her a bow. "Thank you, princess."

 _"A princess shouldn't have to lump her washing around."_

 _"Then it's a good thing I'm a serving girl, not a princess."_

Gwen went rigid. Not now, not now, not Gwaine too. Not after last night - Just thinking about last night's nightmare brought the visions on again.

 _She stood before the remaining knights in the Great Hall. It felt cold. So very, very cold._

 _The great oak doors burst open. Percival walked in. His head was bowed low over his burden._

 _Gwaine's pale, cold body lay in his arms._

Gwen had slid down the wall into the street without realizing it. Cold tears trembled and fell. She pressed her hands to her mouth.

Gwaine was kneeling beside her. "You all right?"

"You're dead," she whispered. "You were dead."

He nodded. "Which time?"

She looked up at him. "What?"

He sat beside her. "Well, there was that first time, of course, when that witch caught me. I'm not proud of that one, and I'm not sure Percival's ever entirely gotten past it either. Then there was that time in Sherwood, back when Percival was calling himself John, and I went and got myself hung after Robin died. That was a bad one, but I don't recall you being there to watch it. Although, admittedly, my memory of the event's a little foggy. You might have been in the crowd. There were oh, half a dozen fights for England after that. Big battles mostly. They kinda blend together. Agincourt was pretty good, but Lance and I were on opposite sides for that one. We each did the other one in though, so I guess we came out even. Then there was that whole affair with the American Revolution - I was a Patriot, by the way, still not sure how that worked - but I managed to survive to old age for once. Weren't you a spy of some sort in that one? Thought I remembered you and Elyan from around then." He didn't wait for an answer. "Missed all the excitement in France, of course, but Lance has got some stories to tell, if you're interested. After that there were the three World Wars, where the sole good thing was that we were at least all on the same side for once - you actually got to fight in the last one, that must have been a relief - the apocalypse, the founding of Panem - which did not turn out like we'd planned - the Dark Days, and now this. I'm sure I'm forgetting something. Merlin says some of our more traumatic lives tend to get forgotten, and frankly, they all started to blend together after a while. When I can remember them, that is." He paused. "Sorry, what were we talking about?"

She was staring at him.

"You're not crazy," he said gently. "All that stuff you're seeing, it was real. You really were a serving maid in Camelot. You really did marry Arthur which says a lot more for his taste than yours. And it really did all go down in flames despite everyone's best efforts. We just kept coming back. Trying to make things right. Waiting for Arthur to show back up. Merlin's helped as he can." He shook his head. "Poor guy. Got to the point that when I limped into the medical tent where he was working in the Third World War and told him I thought I was dying, he said 'What, again?' then took one look at me and said I'd be fine, he'd seen me die, and this wasn't what it looked like." He laughed a bit. "He was right. 'Course, it wasn't really a joke to him. When I really was dying in that war, he grabbed me by the shirt and told me he was saving my life whether I liked it or not, because he wasn't going to watch me die again. He used magic to save me in front of about twenty witnesses. He didn't even care that someone taped him on their phone. Being immortal's not all it's cracked up to be."

She was still staring at him. The memories were responding though.

 _Chains in the darkness while a storm rolled._

 _A wet street at midnight and letters that could help the British cause and buy her brother his freedom._

 _Crouching in a tunnel while bombs burst above, praying for Elyan, fighting across the channel._

 _Lancelot pulling her into the helicopter while shots rang out below. Gwaine laughed from the pilot seat. "Get ready for a bumpy ride!" Lancelot smiled at her and helped her strap in._

 _The same helicopter. A different day. No more smiles. No more laughter. A jolt, then searing flame._

 _Merlin blocking a broken road her group was trying to travel down. "Not this way. Come with me. I've got supplies. Even water." Her parched throat ached at the thought._

 _Hope shone around twelve faces as the Capital was raised._

 _Defiance shouted from hundreds of throats as they ran forward in one last hopeless charge. Where was Merlin, they needed Merlin -_

The bullet that had slammed into her body in the memory jerked her back to reality.

Gwaine offered her a hand up. "It gets easier," he promised. "In the meantime, there's something you should see."

She followed him to the fence. He counted sections silently, then nodded and strolled right up to it, as if the guard stations weren't even there.

He threw a grin back at her. "Merlin," he said, as if that were the only explanation that was needed. Maybe it was.

Beyond it, a building that might have erupted from stone hidden deep within the earth gleamed ostentatiously. This time she said it the same time he did: "Merlin."

Gwen stared wonderingly inside. Weapons and body armor lined the walls. Food, water, and other basic supplies stretched out in neat rows of carefully labelled boxes.

"You could fit a hovercraft in here."

Gwaine grinned. "That's the idea."

She shot a glance at him. "All of this . . . you could start a revolution."

"Yes," he said seriously. "We could."

"That's what this is. Who's leading it? You? Merlin?"

He shook his head. "Merlin's in charge for now. But he's made it very clear he only considers himself . . . regent, you could say."

"You're waiting for Arthur."

"We're waiting for Arthur. Well, him and the signal." The boyish grin was back. "There's something else you should see." He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the endless maze of crates.

"How many of the others know?"

"Everyone, now."

"Even Uther?"

"Well, maybe not him."

"Elyan?"

Gwaine guessed at the cause of the question. "He was afraid you would think he was doing some kind of drug and that he was getting into trouble."

Which was unfortunately true. Even now - "Oh," she breathed.

A beautiful oaken table rested on the floor. Names of ancient kings and kingdoms decorated it in gold. Tall chairs surrounded it.

"The round table," Gwaine said with quiet pride.

In its center rested a sword.


	40. Insurgent (Part Two)

The woods were quiet, save for a distant cry of a wolf.

That is not to say they were empty.

Twenty-five Rangers moved with a grace and silence that put shadows to shame. They stopped in a place in the forest that would have seemed unremarkable to anyone else.

Unless, of course, someone had stopped to wonder why so many stones had been placed so neatly there.

Twenty-five were there. One was in the Capital. An apprentice was in the arena.

The remaining twenty-four, and the apprentices they'd been training, lay beneath them. In the distance were the mentors of their youth, remnants that had survived the Dark Days. Those who had died in the Dark Days lay beyond even that.

Most held that the place was haunted. The Rangers encouraged the rumor with devices cooked up by Malcolm. It helped them hide what else was there.

Bows and arrows, of course. Their twin knives, naturally. These were the open secrets of their world that even the Peacekeepers ignored in the interest of keeping the Wargals and Kalkara away.

The guns were another matter. Not to mention the explosives. Best not to even mention the body armor. And really, the hovercraft was only a very small one, pieced together by scraps, duct tape, and prayer, nothing more.

The Rangers were silent. Their recruits were not.

"Horace, you big oaf, I thought you were a bear," Gilan said, clapping him on the back.

Horace didn't grin at him. He didn't have the energy for that. His eyes, however, did manage a faint gleam of amusement. "When I'm done with them, the Capital will think the same."

Gilan looked over the rest of the recruits. Fine, fine, bit young, but he'd do, fine, fine . . . "Alyss?"

"Yes?" she asked calmly.

He coughed a bit uncomfortably. "You're a girl."

"I believe I remember Will once saying something of the sort," she said agreeably.

Gilan searched for a way to say this tactfully. "Alyss, you know I mean no disrespect, but simply scientifically speaking -"

"A man will be just as dead if I pull the trigger. As I would be happy to demonstrate."

"You don't see Jenny here! There are other ways to help."

Alyss looked at him in astonishment. "What makes you think Jenny needs the practice? She's been fighting with blunt instruments since she could walk!"

"Ladles don't count!"

"Gilan. How exactly do you propose to stop me?"

He looked in her eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "Right, men! And Alyss. Here's what we're going to do."

. . . . .

Gilan was all but safe when the Peacekeepers caught him breaking curfew.

"You, there! Stop!"

Gilan broke out running. He ducked down the first alleyway he came to and hurdled over a waist high wire fence. The Peacekeepers would be rounding the corner any moment. He slid soundlessly behind the high bushes that framed the back door of the house.

The Peacekeepers ran down the alleyway. "Do you see him?"

"Nothing." The older one sighed and huffed to a halt. "Don't bother. He was wearing one of those Ranger coats."

"So we can identify him in the morning?"

The older one laughed. "Sure. If you fancy waking up with an arrow in your throat the day after that."

The younger one's voice grew stern. "President Snow has given orders that we're to crack down on all these vigilante groups, sir."

The older one muttered something about Snow being welcome to come do that himself. Gilan grinned.

The younger one was less amused. "Sir - "

"I know, I know. We'll have to make an arrest or two."

"Orders are to take them all, sir."

"Seems a shame," he muttered absently. The younger one must have done something because he snapped. "Don't start. I'll do my duty. We'll get 'em. It'll cost us, but we'll get them." He paused. "Well, will you look at that. I think I know what our friend might have been up to." He walked closer. Gilan resisted the urge to look. Movement was far too dangerous. "Graffiti seems a bit petty for them, but what do I know? Come on. Shift's over." The sound of the boots faded down the alleyway.

Gilan waited a good ten minutes before daring to stir. He glanced at the wall he'd been hiding up against. He'd been too busy to get a good look earlier, but someone had indeed spray painted a message onto the wall.

"One arena, one ranger," he read. He smiled. "Well, I like the message, but they could have chosen a better place." Now that he looked around, he realized he was in Pauline's backyard, such as it was. By rights, she should have been at Halt's house in Victor's Village, but what with Snow's threats . . . He shook his head. That would change soon. They would get Will back, and Halt could have the family he'd lost.

Whoever it was that had wrote the message had started to outline it in blood red paint, but had evidently been interrupted, perhaps by the Peacekeeepers. Probably for the best. Gilan would have to come by later and offer to help Pauline wash it off.

Pauline herself peered out her back door. "Hello, Gilan," she said as if she were accustomed to meeting him back here at this time of night. "How are you?"

"Quite alright. Yourself?"

The lines around her face had deepened, but she nodded tightly. "I'll be all right, I think, but I wish Will wouldn't scare me like that. Halt was like that in his own Games you know. Always at the edge of disaster." She smiled fondly. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Actually, I was just about to ask you the same." He nodded towards her wall.

She stepped outside to look at it. "Oh, no, thank you, but you're a dear for asking. I think I'm just about done." She raised a can of red spray paint. "Should I add an oakleaf, do you think?"

. . . . .

The young Peackeeper followed the tracks through the woods. He ignored the light displays and wind chimes that had frightened away the townfolk. Like the Rangers, the Peackeepers did not believe in ghosts.

Unfortunately, the ghosts believed in him.

And they didn't like him very much.

. . . . .

"It's STU-pefy, not stup-EF-y. Honestly, Ronald."

"Excellent job on that patronus, Fred."

"Why thank you, George. You're doing absolutely splendid yourself."

"Fred, how's that batch of vomit inducers coming?"

"I'm George! Honestly, woman, you call yourself our sister - Er, well. Really well. Really, really, really well. If I add another 'really' will you stop looking at me like that?"

"Sectumsempra is no child's charm. You have to want it. You have to feel the hatred bubbling in your veins. You have to make them want to pay for every drop of blood they've spilled. Do you want it, Draco? Do you want to see them pay? Do you want to kill the ones who killed your sister, Parvati?"

"More than anything."

"And you, Draco?"

"More than life, Aunt Bella."

"Then show me!"

"Sectumsempra!"

"Sectumsempra!"

"Good! Good! Soon you'll have more than straw men to vent your rage on, I promise you."

"Er, could someone help me get Dennis down from the rafters? I swear I didn't think the spell would throw him that far."

. . . . .

So this was what grief felt like. Mycroft wondered why anyone put up with it.

But then, increasingly, he was beginning to realize people might not have much choice.

Why love at all if this was the cost?

It occurred to him that no had told him that they loved him since his parents died. It also occurred to him that Sherlock wouldn't have heard those words since then either. He wasn't sure he had ever told his brother he loved him. It was one of those things that was just understood, wasn't it, that family loved each other?

Of course, when one was a Holmes, it might be hard to tell that just by looking.

Caring - not love, he hardly ever used the word even to sneer at it - caring, he had told Sherlock, was not an advantage. It was a weakness to be expunged. He had tried to keep John away from his brother for a while, seeing almost instantly that he would be a bad influence.

But Sherlock had been . . . happier to have a friend. To have someone who punched Anderson and Sally when they called Sherlock a freak. At first, he had assumed that was why Sherlock kept him around: as a sort of bodyguard, John did have his uses.

But a friend . . . a friend was a weakness. An indulgence. One that Sherlock had desperately craved and evidently gotten. A best friend.

A weakness. An indulgence. A crutch.

Mycroft needed a friend just now. He wondered if John was in the market.

. . . . .

John had cried for hours. He had beaten Anderson to a bloody pulp after he'd made a remark about "the freak" being gone. He had shouted at the sky till his voice grew hoarse.

It wasn't enough. None of it was enough. They would forget, all of them, Sherlock's genius, his greatness, and most importantly, the friend who had hid behind it.

John was going to make them remember. He was going to forcibly brand this memory onto every mind in Panem.

They were saying things on the television. Saying Sherlock must not have been so brilliant after all.

John was going to tell them otherwise. Plans, however, were not his strong suit. Loyalty, listening, the occasional brawn, that had been all he'd ever been able to do to help Sherlock. It was always a Holmes who came up with a plan.

There was still a Holmes in the area. Mycroft had never seemed to like John much, but he definitely didn't like fighting, at least not directly, and that was exactly what a revolution needed.

Mycroft would be the brains.

John wondered if he was in the market for some brawn.

. . . . .

Head Peacekeeper Rhett of Twelve woke up the next morning with a bad feeling that something dangerous was brewing.

When the two boys walked into his office, he knew that it was far too late to run.

. . . . .

Ordinarily, James Buchanan Barnes would have been worried about how he was going to pay this month's rent. Ordinarily, he would have been preparing to buy, beg, borrow, or steal whatever food he could until he figured out how they were supposed to eke out a living when the cost of everything had gone up while his pitiful wage remained the same. Ordinarily, he'd be trying to hide all these worries from Steve, as well as the bigger worry of what on earth he was going to do when Steve graduated this year and would be expected to work ten hour shifts at the meat packaging plant. Ordinarily, he would have been noting that the winter chill was still lingering in the midspring air and worrying that the thin coat Steve wore wouldn't be enough to keep him from getting sick again.

Ordinarily. Currently, he had much more urgent things to worry about.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I've been combing the streets for you since midnight."

"Midnight?"

He waved it off. "I couldn't hear you coughing. Thought I'd check on you. And much to my surprise, you'd magically transformed into a pile of pillows."

Steve winced. Bucky glowered at him from his station in the doorway. Then he noticed how much Steve was shivering and how the paper thin coat hung far too loosely off his shoulders.

He sighed. "Come on. Might as well yell at you inside as out."

Steve slipped gratefully through the door. Bucky frowned. Now that Steve was out of the shadow of the door, he could see a bruise forming on his friend's face. "More fighting? I thought you promised to take me along from now on." An ounce of preventative punching was worth a pound of revenge.

Steve sat as close to the faintly heated stove as he could. "Not exactly. I was talking to Peggy - "

Bucky relaxed slightly. A girl. Maybe Steve had gotten the bruise sneaking out in the dark to go meet her. That wasn't so bad.

" - and she was telling me that Stark was getting a group together. She says that what's happening this year is the last straw, and that we owe it to Natasha and Clint to make their sacrifices worth something. Stark started talking, and it was really inspirational. He's got this plan to take on the Peacekeepers - "

 _And I should have known better than to get my hopes up._

Bucky resisted the urge to start shaking him. "Do you have any idea what you're talking about?"

"Freedom," he said, looking at him with that intensely idealistic, moronic, dedication of his. "Real freedom and what we're going to have to do take it. You know what they've done, Bucky. They're evil. Someone's got to take them down."

"Then let someone else do it!" he exploded. "Do you know how dangerous just talking about this is? Much less practicing fighting or whatever it was you were doing last night."

Steve burst to his feet. "I can't just stand on the sidelines and watch the others fight! This is all of our's battle! The freedom to say what we want, when we want to. The freedom from fear. Freedom from having to send kids to die in a pointless battle. This is worth fighting for!"

"You can't even win an alley fight! You barely survived the pneumonia this winter, and you've still not really recovered. Don't even try and deny it."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly. "Go to work next fall? Wait for me to slip and fall into one of those big vats? Get caught in the machinery when they send me in 'cause I'm the only one small enough? Wait till I take on someone too big when you can't get there in time?" He looked away. "This winter, pneumonia. Winter before that, the fever. And before that . . ."

"Flu," Bucky supplied automatically.

Steve looked at him. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you think I've got a long life ahead of me."

Bucky softened. "Look, I know things are rough now, but - "

"But what? People like me don't have a chance in this kind of world, Bucky. And what about everybody else? It'll crush us all eventually. It preys on the weak and on everything good about humanity. I don't want to live in a world like that. And if I have to go down, I want to go down fighting."

" _If you don't get more food in him, he won't live another winter." The doctor had paused and sighed. "And probably not even then."_

Bucky had seen what Steve had seen. Steve had just been the one to show him that just because this was the way things were didn't mean this way the way things had to be. He was the brother Bucky had never had. If he said he needed to do this . . .

"Tell me you aren't doing this just because you think you're going to die anyway."

"Everybody dies," Steve pointed out. "But I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do."

Bucky nodded and exhaled sharply. "Right then. Next time you go, I'm going with you."

That brilliant, hopeful grin spread across Steve's face. "Really?"

"Someone's got to keep you from doing something stupid," he grumbled.

 _All right, kid. You want to fight dragons? Let's fight dragons._

 _If you're going down in flames, I want to come too._


	41. Not Dead (Yet)

Author's Note: I realize it's been several chapters since we've explored the arena. We should be back in it tomorrow, and we'll *technically* be down to the final eight. Technically. I mean, Tia's not dead, and Edward's not dead, and the whole point of this chapter is someone not being dead, and technically, Merlin's in the arena, so let's put it like this: In the next chapter, eight of the official contestants will still be in the running. You'll get some more hints about what's up at the end of the chapter.

Also, you! Yes, you! The one looking at the screen right now. No, not to your left. You. You have been called upon to fulfill this quest: You must answer the following questions and leave your answers in the comments section. Do you a) prefer romance b) prefer action c) prefer the behind the scenes mentor stuff or d) other. Question two: Which of the remaining tributes are you voting for? and Three: Which fandoms do you read for?

I'm taking a poll. Be forewarned, if no votes come in, I shall be forced to depend on my beta. And she has some very . . . forceful . . . opinions.

Not, of course, that she's not a wonderful and amazingly supportive person. Just opinionated.

And possibly capable of beating me to death with a couch cushion, but you're not reading this for the author's notes. Enjoy!

. . . . .

According to his calculations, the plan had a 89.76% chance of going fatally wrong, which is why, of course, it had been Plan B. Circumstances had deteriorated, however, and he had been left with little choice.

The Reidenbach flower was rare and useful only in very narrow circumstances. It was uncommonly good however, at what it did: feigning death while sustaining life under almost impossible circumstances.

Of course, he'd had to tell Irene about his plan. She would have bribed the undertaker not to bother with embalming him.

Hearing returned first. From the sound of it, he was at the viewing that followed his funeral.

"He was such a dear boy," Mrs. Laveen sobbed.

"Yes, thank you," Mycroft said woodenly.

Sherlock wished he could laugh. What a thing to say!

"What was that about?" John hissed. John was here! That was good.

"She's down a tier on the pay scale now that she's down to twenty-four orphans," Mycroft explained quietly. He paused. "That in mind, if there are any double murders over the next few weeks, she should be considered as a suspect." The deduction was as close to humor as Mycroft ever got. Sherlock wondered if he should be offended that his brother was cracking jokes at his funeral. But there had been something off about his voice.

Dead. Empty.

His analytical brain dismissed the words as poetical terms lacking precision when used in this context. Unfortunately, he couldn't come up with any better ones.

His left thumb twitched involuntarily. He hoped no one noticed. From the sound of it, there were still too many people here.

How was John? His tone had been off as well. Rather similar to how it had been just after they'd arrived at the orphanage, in fact.

John was grieving for him. Sherlock felt oddly touched.

It occurred to him a moment later that this explanation might fit Mycroft's behavior as well, but he dismissed it quickly.

"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

If John grieved, he grieved alone. The thought bothered him more than it should have.

Redbeard would have missed him. But Redbeard was long gone, of course.

"Greg," John said, his voice still entirely too tight.

Sherlock pursed his lips slightly. Lestrade. Sherlock had tolerated him for years, finding him vaguely useful on occasion. The past year or so though, he had to admit he'd come to regard him as almost a friend. Not like John, of course, but he would have been disturbed had he been picked at the Reaping.

"John. Mycroft."

He actually sounded upset. How surprising. Sherlock was under no illusions about how the other children felt about him.

"I didn't think he'd actually . . . I mean, he was so brilliant. I never thought he wouldn't be coming home."

"Statistically speaking, his odds were never good. The Capital's assessment of his odds was actually overly generous, particularly when one considers this year's other factors."

His eyelids started to flicker, but he couldn't get a good view. He didn't need one though. He knew Lestrade would be staring at his brother with an expression Sherlock was all to familiar with. John would be probably be siding with him against his brother on this one.

"Your brother is dead, and you're talking about statistics?" Lestrade said in disbelief. "Good grief, man, did you actually care about him at all? Are you even capable of that?"

Machine. Freak. Sociopath.

"Caring is not an advantage."

In the scant second it took these memories to cross his mind, Mycroft's fist must have been traveling through the air, because the next sound Sherlock heard was of flesh striking flesh, followed by Greg's cry of pain and the sounds of John trying to restrain Mycroft.

"Mycroft - "

"Don't you dare," Mycroft snarled, "don't you dare even think you know what I'm feeling right now. You think, you all think - no, you don't think, that's the problem. I loved my brother. And if you ever say otherwise again, I will break your neck."

Sherlock stiffened in surprise. The back of his mind noticed the progress and was pleased with it. The rest of him was too caught up in what his brother had just said.

Was someone else standing there? Were there cameras? Who did Mycroft feel the need to put on a show for?

Sherlock heard John lead Lestrade away for a moment. Ah, John. That would make sense. Mycroft would need to put on a show of grief to remain in John's good graces. Why he wanted to do that, Sherlock wasn't sure, but perhaps Mycroft merely wanted to have someone he could rely on for those pesky group projects at school. Or, less likely but still possible, perhaps even the great Mycroft enjoyed having one person in the world who was more inclined to breathe "Genius," than yell "Freak".

John was gone now, though, presumably to let the two combatants cool off and to give the "grieving" Mycroft time alone with the body. As long as Mycroft kept his back to John, perhaps with some convincing shoulder movements, he should be able to pull off the act without too much effort. Sherlock hoped he would say something to help complete the illusion. It would be nice to know what his brother really thought of him. Or, if nothing else, if someone was too close, he might keep up the grieving act. Even knowing it was an act, a small, long buried portion of Sherlock had awoken at his earlier words.

"I told you once that caring was not an advantage," Mycroft whispered. "I meant it. What I didn't tell you was that apathy is not an advantage I myself possess. I didn't want you to have to feel all of this." He swallowed hard. Was he actually crying? "I wanted you to be safe. And I failed you. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." His words were barely more than a breath now. "Don't leave me, Sherlock. Don't leave me here alone. Oh, please, don't make me face this alone. Don't make me feel, after all this time. I don't want to care. It hurts too much. But I can't help it. Why can't I help it, Sherlock? What did you figure out that I couldn't? What did you know that I don't? What does everyone know that I don't?" Was that a sob? "I'm going to take them down, Sherlock. Every last one of them. I've already started. We're blackmailing the Head Peacekeeper. We've got him right in our pocket. John's stirring up the others. We're going to take them down or die trying. It's not very rational, I know. But that's what you finally figured out, wasn't it? Not everything has to be." He took a deep breath. "If it hurts this much, I wish it were."

Sherlock suddenly wanted very much to move. But with all he had regained, he couldn't move quite enough. Mycroft walked away.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of that little speech.

I was, in some ways, very close to being moved by it.

Lestrade was refreshingly straightforward. "You were the smartest idiot I've ever met. It'll be a duller world without you." He paused. "And, all right, I'll miss you. Not that you'd care."

Admittedly, "smartest idiot" was a bit absurd, but it was about as much coherence as he expected from Lestrade.

He would need to move soon. He managed a hand. He was reasonably confident he could talk now, if he wanted, but he thought he'd wait till John said his piece. He was curious.

He sneaked a quick look. John was crying. An unexpected pang of guilt hit him. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

"You were, without question, the most arrogant, annoying, selfish, manipulative, infuriating person I have ever met, including your brother." On second thought . . .

"You were also the best, the bravest, and the greatest friend I will ever have. You were brilliant and behind that brilliance, you hid a good heart. You did impossible things, so I'm asking you for one last favor. Please. Please, don't be dead." His voice caught on the last word.

"All right," Sherlock said agreeably. He blinked his eyes open. "Could you help me sit up?"

As dramatic moments went, it wasn't bad. Although, admittedly, Sherlock admitted to himself several minutes later as he nursed his sore nose, Mycroft had a much better punch than he had given his brother credit for.

"Explain to me again why you didn't mention this plan of yours ahead of time," Mycroft said in a dangerous tone of voice.

Sherlock fidgeted a bit uncomfortably before he caught himself. "Well, it was Plan B, you understand. I know hiding that I'm alive from the Capital might be difficult. If it did come to fruition, Irene knew. She'd told the undertaker in no uncertain terms not to let me be buried. I'd already minimized the risks."

"And what about us?" Mycroft exploded. Sherlock blinked. He hadn't seen Mycroft like this in years.

"I didn't think there would be quite this much fuss."

John threw his hands up in the air. "What did you think we would do?"

Lestrade was taking it best, really. He'd clapped Sherlock on the back before making a strategic retreat to the rear. "To be honest, I often have a hard time predicting your behavior," Sherlock admitted.

John stared at him for a moment. "You're an idiot."

"If I agree, will you accept my apology?" Sherlock extended a tentative hand.

John ignored the hand and instead wrapped him into a crushing hug. "Idiot," he repeated, but he sounded happy, so Sherlock concluded he must not be too angry. Good. He'd missed him. He didn't have so many friends he could afford to lose one. Especially not this one.

"Mycroft?" he asked hopefully.

"Next time you die, I'm performing the autopsy." He turned to walk out the door, but he paused on his way. "I'm glad you're back, brother. I missed you."

. . . . .

Bucky pushed his way over to Stark.

"Barnes! Glad you joined us tonight." Tony extended his hand.

Bucky ignored it. Instead, he grabbed Stark's arm and dragged him into the relatively quiet hallway.

"What - "

"I don't know what you think you're playing at here. Maybe you feel guilty that Natasha died instead of your girlfriend. Maybe you're just acting out to get under your dad's skin. Maybe you actually looked past your own nose for once and saw what life's like for the rest of us. But I'm telling you right now, I'm not here for your speeches. I'm not here for your 'boot camp'. I'm here to protect Steve. If you get him hurt, much less killed, playing this game of yours, I will hunt you down and end your sorry life. Understood?"

Stark nodded once. "Understood."

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: Some of the dialogue was based on the Season Two finale for Sherlock and Season Three episode two. I know Mycroft's not really an emotional guy, but remember, this is a younger version, and I think he truly did care about his brother.**

 **And here's the chapter title for tomorrow, which is also your hint: "Trees Like Torches".**


	42. Trees Like Torches

**The bells were ringing in the dale**

 **And men looked up with faces pale;**

Eowyn stood on the track, one arm wrapped around the doorframe that led into the mine.

"What do you see, lass?" Gimli called.

A figure was approaching their wall. Black hair streamed out behind the girl.

Eowyn swung back inside. "Morgana."

"The witch."

Eowyn nodded. They'd been all but clear of the Cornucopia when they'd heard a particularly loud shout and glanced back in time see Morgana flying through the air.

"Right," Gimli growled. "I'll get me axe."

. . . . .

 **Then dragon's ire more fierce than fire**

 **Laid low their towers and houses frail.**

The rumble of falling stone came from outside.

"Was that the first wall?" Eowyn asked.

"Aye."

"Get your axe. I'll get the stone ready." She took off running. She grabbed her sword on the way.

By the time she reached the trigger point for the trap, the second wall was already exploding into fragments. She drew her sword and held it over the rope Gimi had told her to sever. Gimli had rounded a chunk of concrete into a boulder with a passable ability to roll. She was amazed at what he'd accomplished with so little.

She cut the rope and set the stone rolling. She has no illusions about how long it would take the witch to blast through the final wall.

The stone rolled, slowly picking up speed as it rolled down the slight incline. Eowyn ran right behind it, sword still drawn.

The third wall went up in a puff of smoke. Eowyn kept running. The wall had been ten yards away. One . . . Two . . . Now . . .

She dove down, using her free hand to shield her face. There was an uncomfortable moment where the stone continued to roll sedately forward.

Then it exploded. The witch must have had up some kind of barrier to protect herself from the fragments that were flying everywhere. Shards sliced through the small portion of her face that was still exposed and embedded themselves in her arms. Stone dust choked her and covered her eyelashes in grey grit.

She straightened from her crouch and lunged forward in one fluid motion. Her sword arm snapped out. The steel thrust through the startled witch, taking her through the heart.

"A gift from the Rohirrim," she whispered.

No doubt the witch had expected further resistance, but Morgana hadn't anticipated a sword so close behind the boulder.

Eowyn jerked the sword out. Morgana clutched her chest and fell to her knees. A strange sound bubbled from her lips.

A chill went up her back. The witch was laughing.

The wound was already healing. The blood that had seeped into her shirt looked oddly unconnected to any damage. The hole revealed only smooth skin now.

"You poor, fool girl." The witch got to her feet. "No mortal blade can kill me."

The evidence did seem to support that statement.

 _You're going to die_ , a detached voice told her. _This is what your dreams of glory have brought you to._

 _No. This is what the Capital has brought me to. But I am of the Rohirrim. The blood of heroes runs in my veins. I am going to die._

 _But I think honor and courage will take me one step further._

Eomer, Theodin, Faramir, farewell.

No mortal blade could kill her? Fine. It would at least distract her.

She swung her sword at the witch's neck. It clanged off an invisible barrier an inch from her neck. Had she still been holding it, it would have jarred her arms badly.

Had she still been holding it.

While Morgana had cast her magic, Eowyn had let go of the sword and flung herself forward.

She crashed into the witch. They both tumbled to the ground, Eowyn on top, both hands around the witch's neck and squeezing.

It was the first time she'd ever tried to strangle someone. She hoped she was doing it right. She screamed a wordless war cry.

Morgana's nails raked her face. Unnaturally deep gouges streamed blood down her face. She didn't care. She just kept squeezing.

It must be doing some good. Morgana's face was changing colors.

Morgana changed tactics. Her bloodstained hands fastened around Eowyn's neck with much more confidence than Eowyn had felt.

No air. Panic reared its ugly head, but Eowyn's fighting blood was up. She kept squeezing.

Dots appeared in front of her eyes. With them came an idea. She could feel her grip loosening.

With the last of her breath she managed to let out two strangled words.

"Elf blade," she gasped.

A few moments later, a cannon boomed.

. . . . .

Morgana stood, rubbing her neck. She'd gotten lucky. The girl hadn't done it properly. A whisper of air had managed to get through.

She cursed herself mentally. She should have used more magic. Even after all these years, she still panicked in situations like this. Her body was still convinced it was about to die.

It didn't matter now. She kicked the girl's corpse aside. The girl couldn't have set all this up alone. Someone else had to be here.

The girl's last words bothered her. What had meant by an "elf blade"? Had she been referring to a sidhe weapon? Even to Morgana, such a blade could be dangerous.

She walked forward, more careful than before.

. . . . .

 **The pines were roaring on the height,**

 **The winds were moaning in the night.**

Gandalf felt very old. It had been creeping up on him for a while now, but he felt the weight of the years pressing in on him now as they hadn't since the Dark Days. Seventy-four years of dying and so little to show for it. They'd managed to bring a few back, but not enough. Never enough.

He turned to Galadriel. "Could it work?"

She tilted her head in consideration. "Perhaps. What blade do you propose to send in? Your own?"

He shook his head. "He could never wield it. I have another in mind, if I can get to it in time."

With all the years he had lived and all the ones that still stretched out in front of him, why was it he never seemed to have enough time?

He hurried off. An old friend from the Dark Days had asked Gandalf to keep an eye on his sword until his nephew was ready for it. He'd been meaning to give it to Frodo for a couple of years now, but it had kept slipping his mind.

Sting would do very well indeed.

Assuming, of course, that it would be allowed.

. . . . .

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;

The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.

Gimli heard the cannon roar and set his jaw. The magically amplified footsteps that were echoing ominously through the ride didn't bode well for Eowyn.

He hefted his axe in his hand and raised it in a salute to the dead.

 _Goodbye, lass. I hope you went down fighting_.

He stood with his back pressed against the wall beside the entrance. Hit her knees as she walked in, then finish her off. A time honored dwarfish tactic.

One dwarf against an enchantress. If Gimli was being strictly honest with himself, he didn't think much of those odds.

Ah, he was of the line of Durin. He'd be fine. If his axe failed him, he hadn't entirely exhausted his supply of tricks yet.

A cold voice dripping with condescension seemed to emanate from the very walls. "Come out, come out wherever you are."

Morgana appeared in a cloud of smoke in the corner just opposite him. "Hello, Master Dwarf. Are you ready to play?" Now that she wasn't using magic to amplify it, her voice sounded raspy. Dark bruises circled her throat.

Gimli grinned fiercely. "Aye. Looks like Eowyn was too." Good one, lass.

She hissed like a cat, her face twisting in rage.

"That one's got the mind sickness and make no mistake," Gimli muttered. Then he shrugged, and, being a dwarf, he charged.

She waved a hand and batted him away like a cat with a ball of string. He flew through the air and banged on the side of one the mine cars. The axe was still clutched in his right hand.

He got to his feet, shaking off the blow. Obviously she didn't know how hard headed a dwarf was.

He spied the lever that operated the mine cars only a few yards away. He'd made some adjustments to the speed of the machines. Maybe it was time to see how they rode.

Alright. New plan.

He hurled his axe at the lever. It hit and forced it down. The mine cars creaked to life. He threw himself awkwardly over the side, hitting his head on the bottom. He leaned out and grabbed up his axe as he went by.

 _Catch me if you can, witch. You won't find this dwarf easy prey_.

. . . . .

 **They fled their hall to dying fall**

 **Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.**

The rattling death trap took off. Morgana watched it for a moment.

 _How cute._

She could just kill him from here, she supposed. But where would be the fun in that?

She summoned her will and appeared on the ride two cars behind Gimli.

The cars jerked suddenly and then gathered speed.

She screamed as they tore out of the tunnel into the light. Sheer exhilaration demanded it. Their speed was incredible. The car swung on the twisting track, rusted metal groaning unheeded warnings beneath them. It would be easy enough to pull some of it loose. She could send the dwarf plummeting to his death and drift to the ground as light as a feather in his wake.

But if she did that, the ride would be over, and she hadn't had this much fun in years.

She took potshots at the scenery with fireballs as they went. Plastic dwarfs went up in smoke and flame.

The ride plummeted downwards towards another tunnel. She smiled. And now, for our main event . . .

She help up a hand as they entered the glowing mine. The ride screeched to a halt. She fell against the side of the car from the sudden stop.

The dwarf tumbled out of his car and grabbed his axe. She wondered why he bothered. He immediately took off running in the opposite direction.

 _Smart move. Just not smart enough_.

. . . . .

 **The fire was red, it flaming spread;**

 **The trees like torches blazed with light.**

Gimli's eyes were fixed on a particular gemstone he'd discovered in his earlier examination. Apparently, the Capital had interfered even with the sanctity of a mine. This one had been wired with some kind of trap. Gimli had repurposed it.

He felt a surge of heat behind him and saw the glare of flames in the plastic. The witch was gathering a fireball. Good for her.

The same second that she released it, Gimli released his axe for the second time that day.

Every dwarf wanted to die with a weapon in his hand and to be buried under the stone.

Gimli died weaponless in a fire so hot, not a single piece of scorched bone survived. All that was left was a pile of ashes and a small puddle of molten gold that had once been a rather fine locket and three locks of hair.

Then his axe hit the stone.

. . . . .

A low rumble overshadowed the cannon's blast. Morgana was no fool. She vanished in a puff of smoke.

She reappeared a few streets over, gasping for breath. It was the most tiring spell she knew. She'd been overusing it.

What remained of the Seven Dwarves Mine Train exploded. All sound seemed to be stripped away from the world. Scarlet and gold flame flickered in the cloud of smoke. Even here, scalding hot metal rained down.

Even Morgana had to give the dwarf a grudging amount of respect.

. . . . .

 **Far over the misty mountains grim**

 **To dungeons deep and caverns dim**

"You fool, I don't have to buy it! I already own it! I only want to send it in!"

"Gandalf," Galadriel said, interrupting his argument. "It's too late."

Gandalf lowered the sword. His head bowed. "Rest in peace, Gimli son of Gloin," he whispered.

He had failed once more.

. . . . .

 **We must away, ere break of day,**

 **To win our harps and gold from him!**

Theodin's son was dead. Now so was Eowyn, sister-daughter. Both by the Capital's hand.

He was too young to feel so old. No man should have to see those who should have taken his place die.

Eomer was angry. And when a leader of the Rohirrim was angry, people tended to know about it.

Faramir, advisor of Aragorn, was also angry. And in this, Aragorn did not refuse him.

The dwarves heard there was a battle brewing. Their attitude towards this could perhaps be best summed up in the words of a dead hero.

"Certainty of death? Small chance of success? What are we waiting for?"

 _You fought honorably. Rest well, Eowyn of the House of Eorl and Gimli, son of Gloin._

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: Lyrics are from "The Misty Mountains Cold". That last quote was Gimli's in Peter Jackson's version of The Return of the King. Some other dialogue and thoughts are based on original books/Jackson's movies.**

 **We're now down to the final seven! We'll (hopefully) have another arena chapter tomorrow, followed by interviews/brewing rebellions.**


	43. Meanwhile, Merlin

**Earlier**

An hour of careful work had led to this point. All that separated Harry from the two wolves was a short alleyway. They were traveling parallel to each other at the moment. Time for him to fix that.

"Forzare," he whispered, putting only a whisper of power behind it. A trash can in the alleyway crashed against the opposing wall.

The wolves immediately turned and headed towards the noise. So did Harry.

The wolves arrived at the mouth of the alley first. Harry appeared a moment later.

They should be able to take care of it from here. Merlin felt no satisfaction from his work. Just tired.

As the wolves prowled forward, and Harry drew his wand, it occurred to him that he might not want to be standing in between the combatants. He turned and slipped behind Harry. The wizard frowned slightly as he felt the air stir beside him.

An explosion shook the world. Merlin burst from the alleyway to see smoke rising in the distance.

Specifically, in the area where he had told Arthur to wait.

Fool, he cursed himself as he took off running. You utter fool. How could you leave him alone for a second?

If Arthur was dead, then no one was leaving this arena alive.

Not even a supposed immortal.

It was a nightmare run through the deserted streets. The grey walls of the buildings that lined the streets threatened to collapse in on him. They were all to similar to certain other grey walls, these the solid stone of the cliffs that had framed the Battle of Camlann. The ground there had been nearly as devoid of life as these streets were. He had picked his way through the dead until he'd found Arthur lying beside Mordred, clinging to life with his fingertips.

Merlin had failed him then. He would not do so again.

He ran faster, letting out an inarticulate scream of need.

The very fabric of the world responded.

One minute there was a maze between him and Arthur. The next minute, the world had rearranged itself in accordance to his will.

Buildings pushed themselves out of the way. The road corrected itself into a straight path. The material it was made of had changed into the ideal running surface.

Merlin took off running, the wind at his back. If the invisibility cloak flew back and revealed flashes of limbs, he doubted it was more noticeable than what he had just done.

* * *

President Snow stared at the screen. "What," he asked in a deadly quiet voice, "was that?"

Nimue smiled. "I did warn you he was taking an interest."

* * *

Arthur stumbled back as an invisible force threw itself at him. Will's knives were out in a second, but they both relaxed as they realized it wasn't a magical attack.

"You dollop head! I thought you were dead!" The hood of the invisibility cloak had fallen off. Merlin's furious face was visible. "Do you have any idea what that felt like?"

 _Lancelot walked into the encampment, head bowed. Arthur looked up at him. His heart broke. No. He couldn't be gone. He couldn't._

 _"Bad news," Lancelot said gravely. Then he grinned. "He's still alive."_

 _Of all the stupid pranks -_

 _Agravaine laid a bloody scrap of fabric down on the table. Arthur picked it up gingerly. The fabric was rough and poorly made. It was probably all Merlin had been able to afford._

 _"I'm sorry, my lord. He was a good servant - "_

 _Arthur held up his hand. Agravaine didn't understand - couldn't understand - that Merlin hadn't been a good servant. He had showed up late or not at all. He had dropped things, lost things, and generally made both himself and his king look ridiculous._

 _He had been a terrible servant._

 _But he had been a very good friend._

"Yes, actually. I seem to remember one occasion where you actually convinced Lancelot - "

"For five seconds!" Merlin protested. "You thought I was dead for all of five seconds. You were dead for over a millennia."

Will coughed. "Are all your friends disembodied heads?"

"He's invisible," Arthur explained. "At least he's supposed to be."

"Oh. Right. Well, you see, I sort of rearranged a couple of buildings so I could get here faster, so I'm not sure if there's much point in hiding anymore."

"It would least make it harder for the Capital to aim."

"I'm immortal, remember? I once survived a direct hit from a nuclear bomb. Trust me. I can survive anything they can throw at me."

"A what?" Will asked.

Merlin waved his hand. "It's complicated. What did I miss?"

"Oh. Will meet Merlin. He's a sorcerer, but he's on our side. Merlin, meet our new ally."

Will raised an eyebrow. "A sorcerer, huh?"

"You got a problem with that?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "No. Just got to . . . rearrange some thinking is all. How'd you end up in the arena?"

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other. "Long story," they said at the same time.

"Think of me as his immortal, unkillable, magically gifted bodyguard," Merlin said.

"Not that he has a high opinion of himself or anything."

"Says the man who once pronounced himself the finest knight in the five kingdoms."

"I was!"

"Except for Morgause."

"She cheated!"

"So do I. Your opponents just as dead. What exploded?"

"I climbed to the roof of one of the buildings to get a closer look. Looks like one of the rides went up in flames. There was at least one cannon blast, but more could have been hidden in the explosion. We'll know tonight who it was."

"No need," Arthur said looking grim. "I think I know it was."

"Three," Merlin said. "They holed up in that Mine Train ride."

"But what could have set it off?" Will asked. "They don't normally include explosives as weapons. Not personal enough to suit them." He tilted his head. "Could you have done it?"

Merlin frowned. "Yes, but I wouldn't ha - Morgana."

"Your district partner?"

Arthur looked pale. "She did that?"

"She must have. She's a witch," Merlin explained to Will, "and a powerful one."

"More powerful than you?"

Merlin grinned. "No one's more powerful than me."

"Or got a bigger head," Arthur muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. "We're going to have to take her down, aren't we?"

"You don't have to come," Merlin offered.

"No. I'm not going to hide behind a blanket and pretend this isn't happening. If we're doing this, than I'm going to be there."

Merlin wasn't so sure about that, but he'd marshal his arguments later. For now, he nodded.

"Right then. Who's up for a witchhunt?"


	44. Paths That Lead Home

The populace was quiet, but the reporter didn't like the speculative looks some of the field workers were giving his hovercraft. He did his best to ignore them.

The father of not one but two tributes obviously had to be interviewed. Unfortunately, as the maid put it, Uther wasn't well.

He looked up from the television with a terribly fragile look in his eyes. "Where is my son? Where is Arthur? The kingdom needs him."

The reporter gave a start. The maid was already at his side soothing him. "He's out hunting, my lord. You know how hard he works. He needed a break."

"Yes," he mumbled. "When will he be back?"

"Soon, my lord." She jerked her head at the reporter and followed him out the door. "I can answer any questions you have. I'm afraid my employer isn't well. He's having delusions."

"Quite. Do you know the tributes well?"

A faint smile flickered across her face. "Arthur's been courting me - well, sort of - for a while now. Morgana is - was - a friend."

"Was?"

"She chose her path long ago. I want no part of it."

"But - "

"Arthur's going to win. I'm sure of it."

The reporter gave up. "Who else can I talk to?"

She shrugged. "He was closest to Merlin. But he's been gone for weeks now."

"Gone?"

"Missing. If you'll excuse me, the laundry's done . . . "

. . . . .

"Tell me about Harry."

"He's my best mate. Brilliant on a broomstick."

The reporter blinked. "Beg pardon?"

Hermione hastened to do damage control. "It's slang for this sport we all do. It's fun."

"Fun? Hermione, Quidditch isn't just fun. It's life itself."

"Harry is very brave and we're very proud of him," Hermione said firmly.

"Cheers," one of the Weasley twins said.

"And you are?"

"George."

"Are you sure? I thought I was George."

"Only on odd numbered days. Keep it straight, man, honestly."

Mrs. Weasley took the microphone quickly. "Harry's like a son to me. He's part of the family now."

"Or will be, once Ginny finishes with him," George - or possibly Fred - muttered.

"Ginny, what would you like to say about Harry?"

She looked calmly into the cameras. "He's mine."

. . . . .

"Sirius, your thoughts on your godson's recent alliance with not one, but two, werewolves?"

"He's just like his father. And there's no higher compliment I can give. Speaking of werewolves, are you going to interview Remus?"

"Er, yes."

"Good. Tell him he's being an idiot, will you? He won't talk to me."

"Uh - "

"If you like, you can also tell him that I'd be happy to punch him if it'll make him feel any better. Tonks says she'd be happy to punch him whether it makes him feel better or not. She says she needs the therapy. Come to think of it, your nose looks a lot like his. Stay still while I go get her, all right?"

The reporter left quickly.

. . . . .

"Remus, how do you feel about Harry following in his father's footsteps?"

Truthfully, he felt like hexing somebody. The last thing Harry had needed was being forced into such a cutthroat world. Lupin didn't like to think what it would do to Sirius to lose him. He had long started thinking of Harry as something between a son and a brother.

Lupin didn't even begin to think of how he himself would feel. It hurt too much.

"I suppose you could say that depends on how completely he ends up following them." _If he turns up dead ten years after winning his Games, for instance, I'm leading a one man charge on the Capital._

Be strong, Harry. Don't lose that spark inside you. Be brave. Don't let the horrors become you.

Don't be like me. Don't break.

"Um, I was supposed to give you a message."

"From the President?" he asked tensely.

"From Sirius. He says that you're . . . "

"It can't be worse than what I've been calling myself. Spit it out."

" . . . an idiot. He also says he's going to break down your door if you don't start letting him in. Tonks says she wasn't going to be that nice."

"Lovely."

. . . . .

"And you are?"

Her pack leader. Her Alpha. "Her ex-boyfriend."

The reporter sensed a good story. "Why ex?"

"I fell in love with her cousin," he said shortly.

"Emily?"

"Yes."

"Where'd she get all those scars?"

A steel bar crumpled in Sam's hand. The reporter moved on.

"So, Seth, what's your sister like?"

"Grumpy." He looked around guiltily. "Er, I mean great. Really great. Can you cut the first part from the video?"

. . . . .

The reporter should have known better than to try Halt. All he got were monosyllables and grunts. Pauline had treated him to two cups of tea, fresh baked cookies, exquisite courtesy, and absolutely no information.

"Gilan, what do you think of Will's chances?"

Gilan smiled. "One arena, one ranger. He'll be fine."

"Horace, what would you say to him if you could talk to him now?"

Horace looked up with hollow eyes. "Kill them. Kill them all."

"Ah. Er. Alyss?"

"Jenny's promised to make his favorite when he makes it back. There'll be three apple pies waiting for him from her, and a kiss from me."

"Anyone else I should talk to?"

"Tug," Alyss said instantly.

"Who?"

"His horse," Gilan said, as if that explained everything.

. . . . .

"What will you tell your granddaughter if she wins?"

"That I love her." She peered over her glasses. "And 'I told you so'."

. . . . .

He had to rack his brains for the last tribute's name. Somehow, it kept slipping his mind no matter how often he looked at it.

He didn't remember interviewing Mr. Gold. He just staggered out the door feeling lucky to have escaped with his life.

. . . . .

"Open up!"

The rap of the Peacekeepers on the door startled Artemis out of his plotting. He started to call for Butler before he remembered. He was on his own.

Well, not quite. Holly buzzed in on borrowed wings. "They've got the place surrounded. Want me to blast a path clear?" Her hand went to her Neutrino.

"No, Holly," he said, quickly flipping through the security footage. "There are too many."

"What's the plan, then? Secret passage? Hidden room?"

"Have you gotten that video on the air yet?"

"It'll play tomorrow night. Now's not really the time, though, Mud Boy."

He stood as calmly as he could. "It'll have to be good enough." He felt a little sick. For all his cleverness, he hadn't been clever enough. That was all right, though. He had a contingency plan. Several dozen of them, actually.

"We have an arrest warrant for Artemis Fowl, Jr. Come out with your hands up!"

"Get me the Council, Holly. We'll need them." He walked towards the door.

"Artemis!"

"Don't interfere, Holly. It's all part of the plan." He smiled at her weakly.

"Artemis!"

He walked out, hands in the air.


	45. No, Mr Fowl, I Expect You to Die

**A/N: Sorry for the late posting. It was my sister's birthday and we've been busy celebrating. In my family, that means going book shopping. I finally got my hands on** **Elantris** **, so I'm thrilled. To apologize for how long this took, I'll be posting two chapters tonight.**

Artemis really didn't understand why it had been necessary to hit someone who had already surrendered. They'd tackled him as if he'd been making a run for it, and he had landed hard on the gravel. Dried blood caked one side of his face. It was mildly distracting.

They'd cuffed him too. Another pointless gesture. Even if he could have gotten ahold of a weapon, he couldn't have hit a barn from point blank range, as Holly was so fond of saying. He'd always left the fighting to Butler.

Butler hadn't reported in since the Games had started. Artemis didn't blame him, but he was starting to get concerned for the bodyguard. His connection to the Fowl family wasn't exactly a secret. If Snow had decided to take Artemis down, he might be making a full sweep of it.

At least they hadn't gone after his mother. That was hopeful, at least, although to be brutally honest, there wouldn't have been much point in them taking her in. If she couldn't recognize her own son, she certainly couldn't tell them anything worth knowing.

The hovercraft had arrived at the Capital within two minutes of the time he had estimated, an acceptable margin of error. Now he was being shoved through the door to President Snow's office.

Again with the gratuitous violence. Did he really look like he was putting up a fight?

One eye was too caked with blood to see much of anything, but he could see that it was a tasteful room. The carpet alone would have cost thousands, and the spy cameras were state of the art, although why Snow would spy on his own office, he didn't know. The only detail out of place was the half dead bouquet on Snow's desk. Half dead was being generous, actually. Three fourths would be more accurate.

"You wanted to see me?" Artemis was careful to sound bored. He'd considered playing the part of the confused innocent, but no one who had seen his records would buy that. Artemis Fowl was a criminal, and he knew that Snow knew it too. He wouldn't play innocent of everything; just this one, capital, charge.

Snow gave a thin smile. "Indeed. You've been a busy boy."

"I don't like to be bored. What's this about, Mr. President? You needn't have spent all this effort if you wanted to see me. My door is always open."

"This," Snow said quietly, "is about the Reaping."

Artemis let a look of confusion cross his face. "Yes?"

"Let's not play any more games with one another, Mr. Fowl. I know what you did. The only reason you're here is that I want to know why you did it."

"I'm afraid I really don't - "

"Your bodyguard told us everything."

"I can't imagine what he would have to say that would be of any interest to you."

"Really? Are you so confident in him? Did you really think that he would endure torture to protect you after what happened to his sister?"

Artemis felt his face slip into an expression it hadn't hosted for a very long time. Not since Opal had died. "There's no secret for him to protect, but if there had been, than no, I don't think he would have protected it. I know he would have." I also know that whatever you've done to him, you will pay for, a thousand times over.

"And do you imagine your computer is similarly loyal?"

Artemis shrugged. "Well guarded, certainly. You'll have to wait until the next upgrade if you want loyal, though. So far all I've been able to manage is snarky."

"You are stubborn, then, in your refusal to admit what you've done?"

"On the contrary, I'm proud of my accomplishments. This just doesn't happen to be one of them." Whatever happened now, Artemis was prepared for it. He had planned for every eventuality.

Snow smiled. "You'd better hope Mr. Gold is more credulous than I am. I wouldn't count on it."

"Mr. Gold?" Artemis asked sharply.

"That's one of his names. His son was reaped this year. I promised him that when I caught the culprit, I'd let him ask the criminal a few questions. I just hope there's something left of you when he's done."

Every eventuality but that.


	46. Prime Television

**A/N: I changed my mind. Three chapters.**

Holly fiddled with the handle of her Neutrino. She peered over Foaly's shoulder as he made a few last adjustments to the plasma screen's controls.

"Hurry, hurry," she urged under her breath.

Foaly looked affronted. "Genius can't be hurried, Holly. You should know that."

She laid her hand rather significantly on her blaster. He paled. "I'll hurry."

"Holly!" Commander Root roared from his office.

"Too late," Holly groaned.

"Captain Short, if you're not in my office by the time I count to three - "

Holly ran out the door, dodging a sympathetic Trouble on her way.

"One!"

She brushed past an elf carrying a precarious tray of sim-coffee. The drinks collapsed, sending the drink all over the floor.

"Sorry!" She ran on.

"Two!"

She slipped on the spilled coffee and skidded down the hallway.

"Three!"

She burst through the door. "Commander Root, sir!" She snapped off a salute.

Julius was having none of it. "What," he snarled, "is the meaning of this?"

"Sir?"

He swung his computer around to face her. A link to Lower Elements Broadcasting network was playing. He'd paused it in the opening seconds.

"And now, an exclusive tell all reveal from LEP famous Captain Short that may well bring down the Council's century long policy - "

He froze it again and turned to her with a murderous look. "What is the first rule of the LEP?"

"Sir - "

"WHAT IS THE FIRST RULE? YOU NEVER TELL REPORTERS ANYTHING! I DON'T CARE HOW JUSTIFIED YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE, YOU NEVER TELL THEM ANYTHING!"

"I didn't!"

"NO, YOU DON'T - " He blinked. "What?"

"Just keep playing the video, sir."

Grumbling, he did and settled in to watch. All throughout the Lower Elements, people did the same, although admittedly a few seconds ahead.

"Despite the Council's claims that the mud men's 'Hunger Games' are harmless, recently captured video showed otherwise. Even more shockingly, it's not just mud men who are dying in these horrific 'Games'."

What followed was the bloodiest, most heartbreaking thirty minutes of television in LEB's history. Artemis might not have been overly emotional himself, but he knew more than enough of the theory to pull heartstrings practically out of people's chests. He had made sure to highlight nonhuman tributes, particularly dwarves, but he also showed the mud men's children. So many children dying. So many hearts breaking.

At the end, Artemis's face popped up to make a personal appeal to the people of the Lower Elements. Given his victory over Opal Koboi, it was likely to be successful.

Commander Root grunted as soon as he saw the mud boy's face and paused the video. "Artemis?"

"Yes, sir."

He sighed. "It might work at that. The Council has to yield to public opinion. Don't get your hopes too high, though, Holly. They might still be too stubborn to do more than make a few pacifying gestures. It's a good plan, though." He whirled around. "Don't tell him I said that."

Holly looked straight ahead. "Couldn't, sir. He's been arrested by the Capital." Thus why she'd "convinced" the reporter to move the air date for the video forward.

"He's been WHAT? Where's that bodyguard of his, on vacation?"

Holly winced. "Foaly did some hacking, sir. Butler was arrested first. He found video. It wasn't pretty."

Commander Root literally growled. "Right, then. Hand me your blaster."

"Sir?" she asked nervously.

"Your blaster, Captain! Have you gone deaf? They don't issue them to commanders, and I'm going to need one." He snatched it out of her hand and stalked out the door.

"Sir! Where are you going?" Holly hurried after him.

"The Council, of course. I'm going to go make some very eloquent arguments in favor of following the plan Artemis submitted a few months ago. Round up all the officers you can get your hands on and send 'em to the magma chutes. I want them ready to head to the surface at a moment's notice."

"What if the Council doesn't agree?"

He checked the blaster. "Oh, I can be very persuasive."


	47. The Feast

**A/N: I actually feel a little sick to my stomach posting this. It got an excellent reception on Wattpad, but if there's anything I've learned this past month, it's that no two audiences are going to react the same. So let's make a deal: Read the whole chapter. If you have a major problem with what happened, send me a PM/write a review describing exactly why you have a problem with it and if it's going to totally ruin the story for you. I am willing to tweak it some, and the last thing I want is to ruin a story for anyone . . . But ultimately it is my story, and if I didn't think it worked as is, I wouldn't have written it that way.**

 **Have I freaked you out yet? :)**

 **. . . . .**

It was traditional for the Capital to call a feast during the late stages in the Games. The tradition ran so deep, it was almost a rule.

Arthur was done playing by their rules. There would be a feast. But he was calling it.

Well, to be fair, it had been Will who had first suggested it. Merlin had objected on the grounds that he wanted to face Morgana alone.

That wasn't happening. Arthur had broken the tie and composed the message that would be playing in three people's ears very soon.

There was, of course, no point in inviting Morgana. There was someone else still in the arena, but none of them could remember who it was, and Merlin said that without a name, he couldn't send the message. Unfortunate, but it probably wouldn't matter.

Probably.

. . . . .

When Harry had first met up with the wolves, he had assumed they were mutts. It was only when they ran to look at the explosion with open curiosity that he had realized that they were animagi of some sort.

He'd stared out at the billowing smoke. "Someone's being ostentatious." Hermione would have been proud of that word.

The wolves had nodded in agreement. Eventually, they'd turned away from the flames, only to realize they were in a rather awkward situation. Neither side had attacked while the other was distracted. They'd been standing together for several minutes now. It just felt wrong to pick up their weapons and go at each other.

Apparently, they had felt the same. For a long minute, they'd all just stood there staring at each other.

"Any idea what could have done that?" Harry finally asked.

The lead wolf shook her head.

"I didn't think so."

The smaller one shimmered before turning into Red. She dusted off her clothes self-consciously.

"Leah says 'who' might be a better question than 'what'. There have been strange powers at work this year. Besides ourselves, we have already faced a vampire."

That didn't sound pleasant. "I fought Morgana. She's the most powerful witch I've ever fought."

"I don't remember seeing her face in the sky."

Harry shook his head in frustration. "We didn't get to finish the fight. We both walked away. Luna didn't."

"Could she have done this?"

"Probably," Harry admitted. "I'm not looking forward to facing her again."

Red didn't look too excited by the prospect either, but the remaining wolf growled with seeming enthusiasm.

 _The witch Morgana has killed two more of our number. I know her power. It is great. If we are to defeat her, we must do so together. Come to the Cornucopia within one hour. This is no Capital feast. We must unite, or we must die._

They froze in shock as the message rang through their heads. It played through one more time.

 _We must unite, or we must die._

Harry wasn't sure how sincere the offer of truce was, but he knew his answer. "I'm going," he said quietly. "What about you?"

Red looked to Leah uncertainly. Leah hesitated a moment before nodding decisively.

"We might as well together, hadn't we? We'll look stronger if we appear as a group."

"All right," Red said a little tremulously. Harry offered her his arm.

"Shall we?"

. . . . .

Leah led the way, cautiously peeking her nose around the final corner. Three boys were sitting on the top of the Cornucopia. They'd laid their weapons further down the golden tail.

It was a good position. It practically screamed 'neutral' but it was easily defensible, and they would be able to get to their weapons long before anyone could get within striking distance.

Assorted treasures from the Cornucopia had been reduced to rubbish by the ordeal they'd been through. They huddled disconsolately on the pavement. Leah picked her way through, sniffing.

Then the dark haired one - she didn't recognize him which was strange - turned his head toward her and smiled in greeting.

Leah froze. Oh, no. No, no, no, no. This isn't happening. This totally isn't happening.

Leah Clearwater had just imprinted.

Maybe she hadn't, she tried to reassure herself. After all, she didn't feel like the others had when they'd done it. She felt no slavish impulse to do whatever this total stranger wanted. It was a lot more subtle than that. A faint tug on her eyes that made it hard to look away from him. An impulse to change forms and walk up and talk to him.

She rolled her eyes. Like that would go over well. Unlike Red, her clothes didn't magically reappear when she shifted back to human form.

It was just . . . he seemed sad, somehow. It was in every line of his posture, hidden in the depths of his eyes. It wasn't a recent sadness, she could tell. It was something bone deep that he'd fallen in the habit of. It was a look she'd seen on many of the victors. It had become so much a part of them that they often didn't even seem to realize that not everyone lived like them. Not everyone enjoyed brief moments of happiness with the horrible knowledge that soon it would snatched away from them. Not everyone woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares far too frightening to scream about and lay there, sweating and sobbing, and praying for the morning light to come.

The boy made them look positively cheerful.

Oh, boy. She had imprinted. She wanted to smack herself. Or possibly the boy. Or anyone, really. She wasn't picky.

Unfortunately, that would be difficult with paws.

She sighed. Life could be so unfair.

But she walked forward with more of a spring in her step then she'd had in months.

 _Adios, Sam. I've moved on._

. . . . .

Arthur stood. "You got our message."

"We did," Harry confirmed. "You want to team up to fight Morgana."

"It makes sense," Will put in quietly. "These two know more about her than anyone alive, and from what little I've seen, she's unquestionably dangerous. We'd be fools to try and take her out alone."

The wolf huffed, then disappeared into the mouth of the Cornucopia. She reappeared a minute later, wearing still damp clothes she must have scavenged from the pile. She looked the three boys over critically. "It does make sense. Assuming you're not leading us into a trap."

"If we wanted you dead, we had you," Arthur pointed out. "A few well aimed arrows, and a bit of sword work would have created the perfect ambush."

"Maybe. Unless you're allied with Morgana and just want to let her do all the hard work."

Merlin laughed. "She tried to kill Arthur. Trust me, we're not allies."

Leah shrugged. "It just seems suspicious. In the interviews, you were all but swearing undying loyalty to her."

"I was not . . . fully aware of her character at the time."

"The Games bring out the worst in all of us," Harry agreed. He looked at Merlin curiously.

"Who's he, by the way?"

"Merlin," Arthur supplied. "He snuck into the arena."

The others blinked.

"You were named after the great sorcerer?"

"No," Merlin corrected. "I _am_ him." To accentuate his words, the concrete rippled around them.

Those on the ground stumbled back.

Harry's jaw had dropped. Leah looked speculative.

"No fireworks?"

Merlin grinned. "I save those for special occasions."

"Assuming taking down a witch qualifies as a special occasion, I'm in. I've gotta admit that I'm curious."

"If she's in, I'm in," Red said.

"So am I," Harry said, still shooting looks at Merlin.

Will grinned. "Let the witchhunt begin!"

Merlin stood and rolled his shoulders. "That brings back memories," he complained. "Now all we need are a few pitchforks."

Leah ducked back into the mouth of the cornucopia, smirking. "Will a trident do?"


	48. Magic Itself

**A/N: First of all, thank you for your responses to the last chapter. Now for what at least one of you has been waiting for: the confrontation with Morgana.**

 **You would think writing a fight scene with seven protagonists gifted at fighting would be easy.**

 **It's not.**

 **Actually fighting a battle with the group we've collected might well be - well, not easy, but easier than if you grabbed seven random teenagers off the street, certainly. Writing it, however, is difficult because they're all used to being the center of attention in fight scenes, and every last one of them wants to play the hero. Add this to my general dislike of fight scenes . . . Although, actually, this one was kind of fun to write. Hopefully it will be fun to read too. Enjoy!**

 **Oh, and you might want to reread the chapter "A Witch of a Storm" first. Not strictly necessary, but it might be helpful if you can't remember all the details from it.**

 **Some dialogue from Merlin Episode 1x07 "The Gates of Avalon", a phrase sort of lifted from The Order of the Phoenix, and apparently, Will's seen The Avengers.**

. . . . .

Arthur stood alone in the center of the street, assuming you didn't count the long lines of statues that stood on either side of it. A loaf of bread that had been sent down to Will lay at his feet. The parachute chirped cheerfully. It must have cost a small fortune to send it in at this stage of the Games.

Arthur didn't spare it a glance. He had more important things to attend to.

Such as, for instance, his high priestess half-sister that had been alerted when the bread was sent in.

She was just over ten feet away. Her hair was blown back in a breeze. Nothing else was; just her hair. Apparently, melodrama and magic were cousins of some sort. Thankfully, Merlin was above all that. Or maybe it was just hard to be melodramatic when you're tripping over your own feet.

"Morgana." His mouth felt dry. "You don't have to do this. It's still not too late."

"Poor brother." She smiled. "You almost sound like you're trying to save me. When will you learn that not every damsel wants to be rescued?"

"What did I ever do to you, Morgana? Why didn't you at least try to find a better way?"

Lifetimes ago, the words would have brought a hint of doubt to her eyes. But the centuries had hardened her too much. Morgana, as he had once known her, was gone. All that was left was this maddened, hate filled shell.

She laughed at him. "Words. So many words. I think the crackle of the bonfires and the screams of the sorcerers speak so much louder, don't you?"

"I'm not our father."

"No," she spat. "But you'll do."

He drew his sword. She laughed again. "Do you really think that will defend you? No mortal blade can kill me, and I don't see Excalibur anywhere, do you? It's a pity, really. Tell me, where is your immortal protector? Why aren't you hiding behind him like the coward you are?"

"What makes you think he's so far away?"

She froze for a moment, but then shook it off. "I could sense him. A gift such as his does not pass unnoticed in the world."

"Not by most," he agreed. _Of course, he hid under all of our noses for years without giving anyone the slightest suspicion. So did Morgana, for that matter. Perhaps we Pendragons are born blind to that kind of thing._

Morgana took a step forward. "I can't kill you, you know. You have no idea how angry that made me at first. I finally realized I was being close minded. After all, if I kill you, the fun's over in mere moments. But if I restrict myself to other amusements . . . Well, then the fun can go on and on."

 _And killing things mends a broken heart?_ Her scornful voice echoed hauntingly in his mind.

 _Where did you learn that it did, Morgana? Did Morgause tell you that? Did you whisper that lie to yourself when it became too much to bear? Or did we teach it to you somehow?_

Arthur had worried once that madness might run in his family. It hadn't occurred to him until just now that maybe he hadn't been the Pendragon to inherit it.

Morgana took another step forward. Her eyes flashed gold as she summoned her will for a spell. She opened her mouth just as her foot touched the pavement.

Specifically, the pavement inside the magic circle Merlin had drawn.

" _It won't do much," Merlin had explained. "She can still use most of her power. But it'll prevent her from passing the border of the circle by magical or mundane means. She won't be able to apparate out if things go against her."_

The seemingly empty buildings around them came to life. Will, who had found another stash of arrows at the Cornucopia, began a blinding hail of them down upon Morgana from the roof of a nearby building. She slashed most of them out of the air, but one slipped through and grazed her cheek.

Behind her, Harry leapt up and began a stream of curses, jinxes, and hexes, including some that really shouldn't be mixed. Morgana threw up a shield, but like with the arrows, one got through. A blasting charm sent her flying against the opposite side of the barrier. She slid to the ground like a rag doll.

The wolves came in growling from a side street. Morgana didn't pay much attention to them. Her gaze was locked on the last member of their little group, who had suddenly appeared directly in front of Arthur.

"Hello, Morgana," Merlin said quietly. "Remember me?"

Morgana panicked. She tried to transport out, but the wards just flared around her. She pushed herself to her feet. "You," she spat in mixed hatred and fear.

"Me," he agreed in the same quiet tone. "It's always me."

"Animatus!"

The statues came to life around them. Stone gave way to flesh and blood that was nonetheless wickedly fast, strong, and ruthless.

Twelve statues versus a wizard, two werewolves, a Ranger, and the Once and Future King.

For her sake, Arthur hoped she had reinforcements.

. . . . .

A statue of Tinker Bell came flapping up the roof Will knelt on, her lips curled back in a bloodthirsty snarl. Will fired off two arrows in quick succession. Both buried themselves in her chest.

Unfortunately, being an animated statue, she didn't have a heart.

A hummingbird with a swordlike beak was ascending to join her. Will glanced down at it as he backed away from the fairy's bared teeth.

Then he jumped off the roof.

He free fell a full story before he landed on the hummingbird's massive back. He slung his bow over his shoulder quickly and pulled out two more arrows. He stabbed both into the hummingbird's back before jerking on the left one.

The hummingbird instinctively turned right to get away from the pain.

Will grinned. "Perfect. Forward, boy!"

The fairy peered off the roof. Her eyes widened as the hummingbird came zipping up, deadly sharp beak swinging madly.

Will drew his saxe knife as the fairy jerked back, a line of blood appearing on her chest. He decapitated the fairy as he went by.

The statue fell limply to the roof.

"Go for their heads!" he yelled down to the others.

One for the Ranger.

. . . . .

A bear, a mouse, and a girl in a ridiculous dress all converged on Harry at once.

"Stupefy!"

The girl flew backward, out for the count. The bear roared.

"Stupefy!"

The bear kept coming. The mouse had surprisingly big teeth.

"Levicorpus!" he yelled in desperation.

Two very surprised former statues were soon hanging by their ankles in front of him. Harry grinned.

Then two more started heading towards him.

 _Right. Now what?_

A third statue screamed down from the sky. Er, rather, it's passenger was screaming. He wasn't sure whether it was from exhileration or terror.

"Duck!" Will bellowed.

Harry dove to the side. The hummingbird's beak speared the two dangling animals. It dropped nearly to the pavement at their weight.

Will slashed its throat and leaped off, landing with a neat roll. The two remaining animals struggled to stand.

The two others were almost upon them. "Get the animals," Harry called. "I've got this."

Will flashed him a grin and twirled his blood soaked knives before running off to do as asked.

. . . . .

Three had converged on Red and Leah. Three. It was insulting.

. . . Actually, on second thought, it was proving to be more of a challenge than Leah had first thought. They'd brought the first one down together with barely a wrinkle and turned to the second, only to find the first rising up behind them.

"Go for their heads!" Will called.

Easier said than done when you were fighting with fangs. Leah charged forward and hamstrung the small elephant with overly large ears that was charging her. Working effortlessly in tandem, Red leapt at his throat. A large chunk came off in her mouth. She spat it out to the pavement.

The creature still tried to charge. Leah severed the remaining portion, quieting it, but the lion had crept up behind her.

 _Look out!_ Red called.

Leah dove left, but not quite fast enough. A thin line of blood appeared on her flank.

Then Arthur was there, sword already bloody. It swung down in a deadly arc, severing its head from its body. "Only three more to go!"

Leah looked beyond him. Her eyes widened in horror. An overlooked, but nonetheless dangerous, statue was creeping up on Merlin.

Without thinking, she charged forward. She flew past his startled look before burying her teeth in the thing and shaking it furiously. Its paws scrabbled at her, claws trying to rake through her thick matt of fur, but she hurled it off contemptuously. It landed a few feet from Red, who bit it's head off in a single bite.

 _Take that,_ she thought with deep satisfaction. She scanned the area for other threats before trotting off smugly to help the others.

. . . . .

Will cleaned off his knives, satisfied.

"Will!" Harry shouted.

The cold hands of the newly awakened girl clasped around his throat. He choked, thrusting his knife weakly at her arms.

He dimly saw Harry slash his wand through the air. The hands suddenly loosened. He pulled free and whirled around.

The girl was now headless. Harry ran up to him. "You all right?"

"Yeah," he gasped. "Why weren't you doing that earlier?"

Harry glanced down at his wand. "Didn't know I could, actually. There's no spell for that. I just kind of made it up."

"Works for me."

. . . . .

Arthur grappled with the giant as it tried to pound him into the building. He was perched on its back, but his sword lay ten feet away. It might as well have been a mile.

Shaking the sweat out of his eyes, he jumped down off the giant's back and ran for it. It lumbered after him, shouting.

It grabbed his leg, pulling him down. His sword lay just within reach. He grabbed it just as the giant picked him up by the ankle.

"Ha, ha, ha," it rumbled.

Arthur twisted in its grip and shoved his sword into its wrist. It dropped him. Hard.

He rolled to his feet as Red raced in and snapped at its ankles. It tumbled to the ground, and Arthur finished the fight with one more stroke of his sword.

"Ha," he huffed.

An arrow whizzed just over his shoulder, nearly hitting him. He spun. Treachery?

No. He felt ashamed for even thinking it. A small bird statue had tumbled to the ground behind him. It's dagger like beak would have been perfectly poised to take him in the neck. Instead, Will's arrow had punched through its throat.

Arthur finished it off. "Good shot," he called. "And thank you."

Will grinned at him. "I thought you might need a reminder of why chopping people's heads off isn't always the most profitable course of action."

"Really? In the five seconds it took you to draw and shoot the arrow?"

Will looked offended. "Five seconds? What do you think I am, an amateur?"

The wolf form of Leah rolled her eyes. Then she turned back to the scene of the main action.

They had, after all, only been the side show.

. . . . .

Merlin threw Morgana's curse back at her. She swept most of it aside, but an angry red burn joined her list of accumulated injuries.

The very air crackled with the magic they had already spent. Clouds were rolling in. The fight around them was slowly growing silent.

Merlin stepped forward. She took an unconscious step back.

"Still afraid of me. After all we've been through together, you still hate me."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh, yes, you are. Very much so. Will you try and deny the hatred as well?"

"You destroyed my happiness."

"You did that, Morgana. You didn't need any help." He looked at her sadly. "You've fallen so far. You used to like me, you know. Maybe even love me. You tried to defend me, but you didn't have enough power. So I gave you some."

"What are you talking about?" she hissed.

"But it didn't work," he said, shaking his head. "You were afraid of me, and thus, afraid of yourself. I tried to save you, but once that fear turned to hatred, there was nothing I could do. Even now, you still loathe it. Loathe yourself. Loathe me. More than ever, now. It's all have you left."

"You're mad."

"No. I'm the son of earth and sea and sky. I am magic itself, Morgana, immortal and implacable. I walk the earth in human form, but that does not change my power. When your feared your power, you feared me. When you came to hate me, you hated it, too. I am magic itself, Morgana, and you were the darkness to my light. But I have my own darkness now. I don't need you any longer."

Thunder rolled. Morgana screamed as chains burst from the earth and bound her.

Merlin looked at her steadily. "I was going to kill you. But I don't have that much kindness left in me."

The storm broke. And the impossible things that had come too late to heed Luna's call came screaming down, Jack Frost in the lead.

Merlin nodded to Jack once. "She's all yours."

Then he turned and walked away.

Morgana was still screaming.

It was a long time before the cannon boomed.


	49. Now What?

Since the most threatening people left in the arena already knew exactly where each other were, they went ahead and lit a fire. A surprising amount of food had proved salvageable, so a feast was in the works. Merlin, by force of habit, had gone to cook the meal, but Will had volunteered to take care of it. Everyone relaxed a bit at that. It wasn't that they didn't trust Merlin. It was just that when the most powerful sorcerer in the world - they didn't even want to think about the rest of it - offered to make you supper, it was hard not to suspect an ulterior motive.

Merlin kept twitching, automatically reaching to help with dinner. Arthur gently slapped his arm away. "Let someone else handle it for once," he said, leaning back. "You've earned a break." He took a swig of water.

Merlin's eyes looked haunted. "That's the thirteenth time I've killed her."

Arthur choked. So did most everyone else.

"You mean she might be coming back?" Red asked.

"Oh, no," Merlin assured her. "Arthur's back. We've come full circle. There'd be no point."

"We're really going to need to have a long talk, Merlin," Arthur managed. "I think I've had enough surprises."

"All right," Merlin agreed. "Gwen's going to have to twins."

Arthur choked again.

"After you're married," Merlin clarified.

"Thank you, Merlin, my heart needed a good shock. You really need to learn how to break big news like that. You've had enough practice."

"Speaking of surprises," Will said, "were you bluffing? When you told her you were magic itself, I mean?"

Arthur looked at Merlin critically. "You'd think if he were he'd have more common sense."

"Hey!"

"Why would you expect sense from magic?" Leah disagreed. "It's the most nonsensical thing there is. It doesn't make sense. It's not supposed to. It's supposed to be epic and grand - like, say, calling down a storm and ripping up a street. And it's supposed to be silly. Like tripping over your own feet." She tightened her shoulders defensively as they turned to look at her. "What about you, Harry? You're the wizard. What do you think about magic?"

He looked a bit startled. "It's wonderful, but . . . dying. We've lost a lot already, and we just keep losing more."

"I like her description better," Merlin muttered. "Yours is depressing."

"Will?" Leah asked.

He shrugged. "Until I got reaped, I just parroted the Ranger's official views on magic."

"Which are?" Arthur asked.

"We're not saying it does exist, we're just saying that we can't always think of a better explanation."

"You know, for people who run around with medieval weapons, you Rangers have a very 20th century view on life."

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Merlin said. "Don't worry about it."

"Speaking of worry," Will said as he stirred the stew he was making, "I've got some concerns."

"Only six of us left," Red said quietly. She'd hung back intentionally during the magic discussion. She didn't have much complimentary to say on the subject.

"Seven if you count Merlin," Harry added.

Arthur frowned. "Remind me who the sixth one is again?"

Will opened his mouth to answer before closing it with a frown. Harry and Leah wracked their brains. Who was it? District One was gone, Two was gone, Three was gone . . .

Red tried to answer, but she got distracted when sparks from the fire blew her way. She scampered out of the way quickly, answer forgotten.

Merlin watched, frowning. Then his face cleared. "Memore!" he commanded.

They all instinctively flinched away, but it wasn't a curse. It felt like a swathe of gauze had been ripped from her mind.

"Baelfire," Red said. "What - what happened?"

Merlin leaned back. "Someone had cast a forgetting spell. Anyone who tried to think about him for too long would get distracted. It's probably why he's survived so long. Hard to kill someone you can't concentrate on."

"Mr. Gold." Red's eyes widened. "You removed a curse cast by the Dark One?"

"Dark One?" Leah asked.

Red looked awed. "He's the most powerful magician in the world. That's what I thought, anyways."

"Told you so," Merlin said quietly. "So our opponent's Baelfire. Now what?"

"Split up?" Harry suggested. "It won't take all of us to take him down, and we wouldn't fight well together if we knew we'd have to turn on each other once he was gone."

"What's the point?" Leah asked. "Look, I don't know if Will could get an arrow in you before you cursed him halfway to Thursday. I've got no clue whether or not Red and I could sneak up on him, much less who would win if the two of us fought. But this isn't just fang against claw against steel against a few hexes. That's not the question. The question is who's gonna win if we go up against that." She jerked her head at Merlin.

"The Capital," Arthur said.

They all looked at him. "It's how they keep us divided. Who's going to fight side by side with the district whose tribute killed your brother? Your daughter? Your friend? We never win. The Game's too rigged."

"Maybe it's time to play a new one," Harry suggested.

Arthur grinned fiercely. "My thought's exactly."

"That's treason," Red protested.

"Sounds good to me," Leah said. "You can't honestly tell me you're feeling all that patriotic."

"Is there any chance at all we might win?" she asked in a small voice.

Merlin grinned. "Well, right now, I've taken control of their cameras and this is airing all over Panem despite old Snowball's stringent objections. Yeah, I think we can win."

Red smiled. Still hesitatingly, but smiling.

"And just when supper was getting done, too," Will said mournfully. He grinned. "I'm starting to sound like Horace."

"Or Gwaine," Arthur muttered.

"I'm in," Will said. "What do we do?"

They looked at Arthur. Arthur looked at Merlin. "Can you track Baelfire?"

"No."

They stared at him.

He sighed. "Of course I can. Even better, I can keep the Capital off us while we do it. I presume we're leaving after that?"

"Somehow."

"Oh, don't worry about that." He dug a coin out of his pack and flipped it. It landed on the pavement with a clatter. "Our ride will be here shortly."


	50. Going, Going, Gone

**A/N: What can I say? I couldn't resist. After all, last chapter didn't have much exciting going on -**

 **Wait a minute. I've been thinking of last chapter as kind of a filler - you know, necessary dialogue, some fun interactions, but basically a bit of a breather before the action starts up again. Except it really shouldn't be, should it? I mean, presumably you've all been assuming I was actually going to kill all but one person off, and while they're still not exactly** ** _safe_** **, that pressure's gone now. That was sort of an important chapter.**

 **So maybe I should just hang onto this one for another day.**

 **On the other hand, I got this far. Forward!**

 **. . . . .**

A coin zipped out of Gwaine's pocket and tumbled in the air. He grinned.

Lancelot looked up sharply. "It's time?"

"It's time," he confirmed, still grinning. "Let's get this show on the road."

Lancelot stood, checking that his sword was properly secured in its hilt.

"Just a sec," Gwaine said. He grabbed an apple from the stores and bit into it. "Right. Ready."

. . . . .

Arthur looked at the coin. He'd picked it up after it had fallen and was weighing it in his hand. "Isn't this from Camelot?"

"Won it off you in that dice game we played right before the Battle of Camlann Field."

An old memory resurfaced. He frowned. "You mean the one where the die were always exactly what you said they'd be?"

"Er . . . Yes."

"And I accused you of cheating, and you said the idea that the die could go exactly where you told them to was ridiculous - "

Merlin coughed. "Tell you what. Why don't you just keep that one and we'll call it even?"

Arthur grinned, but the smile faded as he stopped to consider something. "You kept it all this time?"

Merlin shrugged uncomfortably. "It was the last time we got to laugh before . . . "

"Everything came crashing down."

"What happened?" Leah asked.

Merlin jumped. He hadn't heard her come up behind them.

She grinned. "I thought you were all powerful."

"Not all powerful," he grumbled. "Just good enough to get the job done." He glanced at Arthur a little guiltily. "Most of the time."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're not still going on about that are you?"

"It was kind of important!"

Leah coughed. "Still here, boys."

"Sorry. See, a long time ago, I worked for Arthur in a place called Camelot and saved his life a bunch of times - lost count somewhere in the thirties - only he didn't know about it because at the time magic was outlawed - which meant, in a sense, I was outlawed - and he finally found out, but only after his half-sister, Morgana, had turned on him, along with one of his knights, Mordred, who he'd saved years ago, only he didn't remember that, then Mordred saved him, so he knighted him - which is hugely unfair, by the way - "

"Do you want to be a knight?" Arthur asked.

"Not really, but it would have been nice to be asked. Anyways, Mordred turned on Arthur after he killed his girlfriend - "

"Understandably," Leah said.

"Not really. Kara had tried to kill Arthur after he tried to save her and turned down the opportunity to get a royal pardon. Mordred was just being stupid. I didn't go all pyscho when Arthur killed Freya." He frowned. "I really would have made a much better knight than Mordred."

"You can barely lift a sword," Arthur started to say before the rest of what Merlin said registered. "I did what now?"

Merlin winced. "Long story, tell you later. The point is, no pun intended, Mordred stabbed Arthur, Arthur stabbed Mordred, I stabbed Morgana, and everyone died but me. That's kind of the story of my life, actually."

Leah blinked. "You're a terrible storyteller."

"It's not my fault," he said defensively. "I spend a lot more time keeping secrets than I do sharing them."

"Shouldn't he be dead, though?"

"He was. He got better." Arthur was still staring at Merlin. "Unfortunately, death didn't cure him of all his little quirks. Earth to Arthur! Anybody home?"

Arthur looked pained. "When we get out of here, you're going to tell me everything, from the first moment you walked into Camelot."

Merlin squirmed. "I already told you most of it."

"No. You told me most of what happened to me. You were curiously silent on what you were getting up to."

"Can't I plead the fifth?"

"The fifth what?" Leah asked.

Merlin sighed. "Never mind."

Will strolled up to them. "The others are ready when you are."

Arthur shook himself out of the mood that had descended upon him, although he hadn't let himself off the hook by a long shot.

Who was Freya? Who had she been to Merlin? And what did he mean, I killed her? And how did he keep quiet about it for all these years?

Merlin plainly didn't want to talk about it. Sooner or later, Arthur would need answers, but now wasn't the time.

"Right. Let's move out." He turned to Merlin. "Which way?"

Merlin focused for a minute. "North."

Arthur glanced up at the overcast sky. "And north would be . . . "

"Just a second," Harry said quickly. "Point me." His wand twirled in his hand before settling to the left of the intersection.

"Handy," Will commented. "That would solve the iron problem, at least."

"Iron problem?" Red asked.

Will rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started."

"Talk later," Leah said. "The hunt is on."

She shifted seamlessly to her wolf form, destroying her latest set of clothes in the process. She sniffed at them for a moment before shrugging and bounding ahead.

Merlin stared after her with an unfathomable expression in his eyes.

"What?" Arthur asked him as they followed her.

"Nothing. Just . . . reminds me of someone, that's all."

. . . . .

Leah glanced over her shoulder. With her improved hearing, she'd heard every word.

So she reminded him of someone, did she? Was that good or bad?

She shook her head, annoyed with herself.

 _Get a grip, Leah._

It was just . . . well, after Sam, she supposed she was a little touchy about the whole thing. She was on edge in any case. She had the nagging feeling she was out of her weight class here.

Eh, who cared? Whatever claims to fame the others might have, she was still the fastest.

Speaking of which . . .

She took off, the wind of her run stripping all other worries away.

. . . . . .

Mr. Gold watched the screen, tight with tension. His spell had fallen. With Baelfire still technically unharmed, he couldn't even blast the other tributes out of existence.

"They said they weren't going to hurt him," Belle reminded him.

True. But he hated this feeling of being so powerless to stop what was happening.

"Maybe - "

"No," she said firmly. "You gave your word, Rumplestiltskin." She sighed. "Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me. Everything will be alright." She leaned onto her toes and kissed him.

He stumbled back. It was just like before. He could feel the change.

Then, he had turned away. He had chosen power.

He had chosen fear.

This time, he chose to be more.

He leaned in and kissed her again.

He didn't even notice the doorbell ring.

. . . . .

They waited outside the darkened building.

"What's the plan?" Will whispered.

Arthur frowned. "We don't really have time to explain everything."

"I could knock him out," Merlin offered. "He'd wake up in a couple of hours."

Arthur looked around at the others. They nodded. "Do it."

Merlin didn't even have to concentrate. "Done."

Arthur nodded and started to stand.

"I'll do it," Harry said. "It'll be easier just to levitate him out."

Balefire bobbed out of the door. He only bumped it once.

"Clumsy," Merlin said critically.

"Sorry," Harry whispered.

"You're one to talk, Merlin."

"Shut up, dollophead."

Baelfire landed on the pavement beside them. Merlin flinched.

"What?" Harry asked defensively.

"Not you. Capital. I'm having to divert their missiles."

"That's nice," Will said tensely. "I believe you said something about a ride?"

A string of lights appeared in the sky. They quickly grew closer.

"Er, Merlin," Arthur said.

"It's fine," Merlin assured him.

The hovercraft was now close enough for the pilot to broadcast messages. The system crackled to life.

"It's a bird! It's a hovercraft! It's . . . Gwaine the superhumanly handsome! And he's coming in for a perfect landing. The judges award him a perfect 10!"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Only in an eating competition," he yelled up. "Just send down the ladder, Gwaine."

Gwaine chuckled. "Of course, your supreme wizardliness. Your chariot awaits."

The ladder dropped down. Merlin hesitated as he looked at the unconscious Baelfire and the still wolf shaped Leah.

"Actually, on second thoughts, go ahead and land. I'm sure I can hold off the Capital's missiles for a few more minutes."


	51. Sir Gwaine Airlines

Gwaine turned to look at them from the cockpit. "Welcome to Sir Gwaine Airlines. Please buckle in and enjoy your stay." He swerved to avoid the explosives now erupting from the arena. "We will be experiencing some slight turbulence, so please - "

"Gwaine!" Arthur yelled.

Merlin threw up a hand and batted the latest missile away.

"Eyes on the sky, Gwaine," Arthur said tersely.

He grinned. "Nice to see you too, your majesty. Oh, Merlin, think you could give me a hand here? I didn't have the chance to test drive this thing, and I'm not sure what all the buttons do."

Will looked green. "This is your first time flying it?"

"As it happens, yes," Gwaine said cheerfully.

Will groaned and sank onto one of the seats.

"There's paper bags here somewhere if you need one," Gwaine offered.

Merlin groaned and plopped into the copilot's seat. He paled as he looked at the instruments.

"Gwaine, are you sure you don't have magic?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because that was the only explanation that came to mind as to why you hadn't crashed yet! You left it in first gear, you idiot!"

"It has gears?"

Leah, still in wolf form, let out what Arthur was sure was a sigh. She walked over and nudged Baelfire gently.

"Still out?" Arthur asked.

She shot him a look that seemed to say, No, he's doing jumping jacks. What do you think, idiot?

He was very familiar with that look. Merlin was fond of it.

Will seemed to be suffering from airsickness. Red settled in beside Baelfire to watch over him.

Leah turned her attention to watching Merlin. Admittedly, the events in the cockpit were getting steadily more entertaining, assuming you could forget that their lives depended on what happened in there, but her focus seemed a bit too intense for that.

Arthur shrugged it off. What did he know about reading a werewolf's mood?

Harry was pacing.

"What's wrong?"

"The Capital's not going to be happy with us."

"I don't much care what they think of me. Especially with Merlin here to protect us from their wrath." The hovercraft dove suddenly, sending them all stumbling forward.

Harry glared at him. "That's all well and good for us, but what about everyone back home? Or in the Capital, for that matter."

"District 4 has been in open rebellion since Jack's death. The tide's turning against them, but they're still holding out. District Three joined them a couple of days ago. Five is rioting, Six is ready to, and Twelve's on fire. There are groups ready in most of the other districts, but they're lying low for now," Gwaine called from the pilot's seat. "We keep an eye on these things. Merlin here made an arrangement with young Fowl." He frowned. "Haven't heard from him in a while, though. Just been getting stuff through his contacts."

"That's not good enough," Harry said. "Even if we do manage to win this, the Capital could send out hovercraft before we're even close to a victory. Haven't you seen what they've done to any of the victors that even try to cross them?"

"Not up close, no," Arthur said, "but I'll take your word for it. Merlin? Suggestions?"

"Little busy at the moment!"

"Look, is there any way I could just get a message through to Nine?" Harry asked in desperation.

Merlin peered out the glass. "Sky looks pretty clear for now. I can probably get you five minutes. Who do you need to talk to?"

"Can you split that between two people?"

"I could call them both up at once," Merlin offered. "If you don't mind a conference call."

The last few words meant nothing to Arthur, or Harry for that matter, but he seized on the suggestion. "Perfect. Give me Ginny Weasley and Sirius Black."

Merlin nodded. "Look at your left window in three . . . two . . . one . . . "

The darkened window shimmered before splitting into two full color images, one of a determined looking redhead, the other of an obviously worried Sirius Black.

"Harry!" both burst out at once.

Harry held up a hand. "It's complicated. Just - give me a minute, all right?" He laid out the situation quickly.

"Don't worry about us, Harry," Ginny said. There was a strange fire in her eyes. "If the other districts are rebelling, we'll pull our weight."

"Ginny, that's not why I - "

"I know, Harry. You want to keep me safe. You want to keep everyone safe, and I love you for it. But we're ready to fight. I want to fight for that world you dream about. Would you love me if I did anything less?"

Harry looked like he wanted to argue with her, but he visibly swallowed the urge. "Can you do it?" he asked instead.

"Fred and George, remember? Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve."

"Sirius?" he asked tensely.

"Been a long time since I was in a good fight," he mused.

"It's been a month."

Sirius grinned. "Like I said. A long time. Besides, I've got some unfinished business with a few so called wizards. It's about time the Marauders rode again. Which group will you be flying in to reinforce?"

"Good question." He turned to Merlin. "Where are we going?"

"Capital. It took magic to get us into this mess, it'll take magic to get us out. We'll be there in less than an hour."

Arthur wondered a bit at that, but Harry didn't question it. He turned back to the window. "Ginny - "

"We'll be fine," she promised.

"Tell Ron and Hermione I wish them good casting then."

"I will. Go kill some Peacekeepers for me."

"As you wish, my Lady Freckles."

She stuck her tongue out at him before her image blurred and faded. Harry turned to Sirius quickly. "Try not to kill the whole Capital before I get there, all right?"

Sirius grinned. "No promises, Harry." Then he, too, blurred and faded.

"My Lady Freckles?" Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry shrugged. "We grew up together," he said, as if that explained everything.

Merlin had other things on his mind. "I caught a glimpse through the mirror. What was that she was holding?"

"Her wand," Harry said with some confusion.

"Since when have you been repairing wands with duct tape? Poorly, I might add. I could see the veela hair poking out. And what's she doing with rosewood and veela hair in the first place?"

"Tongue tying charms mostly," Harry shot back.

"Really? I'd have thought she'd have been more one for bat-boogey hexes."

"Bat what?"

Merlin shook his head. "We're going to have a long talk about the state of organized magic when all this is over."

"In the interest of us all surviving till then," Arthur interrupted, "how many people could you send that out to at once?"

"How many do you need?"

"From what you've said, rebellion's stirring, but it's still weak. I thought it might help if people knew they weren't fighting alone."

"Good thought," Merlin approved, "but I'm going to need to concentrate. Leah, how's your night vision?"

She growled in a method that seemed to say, _You had to even ask?_

"Good. Er . . . Do you want to change back to human form?"

She growled a 'no' rather definitively.

"All right, then. If you could sit in the copilot's seat and sort of yelp at Gwaine if you see anything coming, I'm sure we'll all feel a bit safer."

Will groaned.

. . . . .

 **A/N: Yes, the "first gear" exchange is an Artemis Fowl reference. No, I'm not sorry. In fact, I'm pretty sure Gwaine's response is a direct quote from Mulch Diggums, so give credit where credit is due.**

 **After all, you really don't want to get on Mulch's bad side. (Otherwise known as downwind.)**

 **(Since I know at least one you doesn't read Artemis Fowl, a quick explanation of that last. Mulch is a dwarf. Dwarves have a variety of excellent powers, such as tunneling. They literally eat dirt at an amazing rate. Unfortunately, they also have to get rid of it somehow. I'll leave the details to your imagination.)**


	52. We Interrupt Your Regular Programming

Every piece of glass in Panem seemed to flicker.

. . . . .

Lancelot froze by the shop window. "Percival! Look!"

"Little busy!" he yelled. He shot a few more rounds at the Peacekeepers that were fanning out across the street before ducking behind the smoking remains of an armored truck. Apparently they hadn't magic proofed it. Merlin had left a few little bottled tricks behind.

And now it looked like he'd started on some more.

Arthur appeared in the glass. "People of Panem, this is Arthur Pendragon."

"Arthur," Elyan breathed.

"He's alive!" Tears trembled at the edge of Gwen's eyes.

Not that that stopped her from getting off a head shot at the Peacekeeper trying to sneak down an alley to their left.

Lancelot sighed. Gwen was quite a woman.

. . . . .

"Some of you are already fighting."

"Noticed!" Elizabeth yelled. The trigger on her blaster had clicked empty. She smashed it into a Peacekeeper's face and snatched their's up.

"What?" Will shouted back.

She dived under a fallen spar of wood to avoid a Peacekeeper's blast. "Nothing!"

Four was fighting. But Four was losing. Two ships were already burning. The _Flying Dutchman_ and the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ were doing all right - Elizabeth wasn't sure it was even possible to sink them - but the _Interceptor_ and the _Empress_ simply weren't up to the strain. They would lose the _Interceptor_ soon.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and vaulted over the beam just in time to see the blaster be knocked out of Will's hand.

"Will!" She shot the Peacekeeper. The blast bounced off the body armor, but at least she had his attention. Will grabbed a loose timber and hit the man upside the head with it. He collapsed to the deck.

Elizabeth tossed Will her blaster and drew her sword. Will hadn't been able to smuggle his out of the Capital.

More soldiers were swinging over the sides. She ran over, sword slashing through lines. She whirled and found herself face to face with Norrington.

"Elizabeth," he said, plainly shocked. "What are you doing here?"

She slashed through another line. A Peacekeeper fell screaming into the harbor. See how his body armor helped him there. "The right thing."

"You can't win."

The cannons on the Dutchman boomed at the Empress. It must have been taken.

"Not really the point!" she yelled over the cannon fire. She ducked through the broken glass that had once fronted a cabin. Each fragment glittered with Arthur Pendragon's face.

. . . . .

"Others, like me, are preparing to."

The training at Stark's manor had halted. All eyes were on the shimmering glass.

"What kind of technology is that?" Stark breathed.

"All around the country, blood is being spilled for your freedom. Are you going to stand by and watch? Or are you going to join us?"

Bucky groaned.

But his hand was already reaching for his gun.

. . . . .

"I know the fight seems hopeless."

Fire rained down on District 12. The orphanage was burning.

"Good riddance," Sherlock muttered.

John had gone pale.

"What?"

John was already running.

It wasn't empty.

"Moriarty," Sherlock spat with feeling. He wasn't sure what it meant, but it made it made him feel a bit better.

Then he ran after John.

. . . . .

"But you are not alone. Together, we can overcome them."

Spells and blaster shots mingled around the hover port at Nine. More than one Peacekeeper had been put out of commission before the fight even began, courtesy of the Weasley twin's creative cooking.

Hermione was a tornado. She and Ron fought side by side. She blasted, and he threw up shields as necessary. It worked.

Ginny couldn't see most of the others. What had begun as a charge had quickly turned into a riot. Although judging by the alternating screams and squeaking noises, her brothers were somewhere to her left.

At the spearhead of the assault was Bellatrix Lestrange, oddly beautiful in the red glare of the flashing spells. She laughed as she fought, whirling in a mad dance of twisting spells.

"You are not alone," the voice said again.

They didn't fight alone. They shouldn't act like they were.

"Sonorus," she muttered.

"Wronskei!" she shouted over the hubbub.

Everyone in the DA knew what that meant.

They moved together in preparation for a feint.

. . . . .

"Please. Join us."

Emmett didn't really need all that much convincing.

"Emmett, no," Rosalie said.

"Why not?" he whined.

Rose opened her mouth to answer but paused. She realized, for the first time in nearly a century, that she didn't have a good answer for that. The strange terror that had filled her every time she thought of fighting was almost gone now.

She sighed. She was so going to get her hair messed up.

. . . . .

The Rangers were another group that didn't need much encouragement. Horace stood at the head of the new recruits. The Peacekeeper headquarters were right around the corner.

"Charge!" he yelled.

On the opposite side of the square, Gilan prepared to do the same.

"This is unnatural," he muttered. Rangers preparing to charge?

Tug wasn't interested in Gilan's military philosophy. With Will gone, he'd been left riderless.

So he went ahead and charged on his own.

"Oh, for crying out - Charge!"

. . . . .

Six was more hesitant. But surely only strong magic could have projected such a message.

Slowly, people crept out of their houses.

Charming and Snow stood ready to rally them. Behind them stood eight dwarves.

"Let's do this."

. . . . .

Anna grabbed a frying pan at the first mention of the word "fight". She took an experimental swing to get the feel of it.

She did. So did Kristoff.

"Sorry," she squeaked.

Kristoff eased it out of her hands. "Let's get you someone a little less dangerous, all right?"

. . . . .

Never underestimate a dwarf.

Or the Rohirrim.

Or the men of Gondor.

Or elves.

Or hobbits.

Or Radagast, for that matter.

Aragorn had to concede that his original plans for the battle had been smashed to smithereens by the arrival of Radagast's rabbit led army, and he didn't pretend to understand how the hobbits had gotten their hands on so much mithril, much less keep it hidden from the dwarves for so long without even understanding its true value, but at this point, he didn't much care. Whether with axe, bow, or Isildur's blade, this day, they fought.

. . . . .

"Fight."

The idea hadn't really occurred to District 2 until just now. How would they even go about it?

Then again, there was still a little bit of stardust left . . .

. . . . .

Han had heard rumors that the Jedi Council was thinking about joining the fight.

Han didn't have much patience for politics.

He punched in the code. "You ready, Chewy?"

"RAWR!"

"Good. Then let's go."

The Millennium Falcon took off.

Half a continent away, LEP ships did the same.

. . . . .

"Good speech. And I didn't even write it for you!"

"You didn't write all my speeches."

"You're right. There was that one time I was sick . . . "

Arthur punched him in the arm.

Gwaine's voice interrupted what promised to be an excellent argument. "Gentlemen - Ladies - we land in 10 minutes."

The craft jolted.

"Scratch that. We crash in two."

. . . . .

 **A/N: Ah, cliffhangers. Aren't they lovely?**


	53. Revenge is Such a Strong Word

**A/N: This chapter contains some OUAT references. I have been reliably informed that the show can be confusing to outsiders, so allow me to list some basic, necessary facts. No headaches, I promise.**

 **1) Mr. Gold is the Dark One. This means he has a lot of power, but it comes at a great cost.**

 **2) If he accepts true love's kiss, he will no longer be the Dark One.**

 **3) The Dark One is forced to obey anyone who holds a certain dagger with their name on it.**

 **4) There's an evil witch who wants revenge on Gold really, really bad.**

 **See? No headaches.**

. . . . . .

The Capital had been prepared for many possibilities. This hadn't been one of them.

In all the confusion, Artemis managed to slip away. He glanced back just in time to see the door to Mr. Gold's room open.

Well, explode might have been a better term.

He wasn't sure if the Dark One had gotten riled or if it was some kind of security measure, but it was none of his business.

Butler, however, was. It seemed his bodyguard needed him.

Artemis called up a map of the Capital he'd memorized. A proper map, with all its dirty little secrets of prisons and tunnels laid bare.

A little improvisation seemed to be called for.

. . . . .

It was amazing what one could accomplish with a team of some of the deadliest people in the nation. Between Irene Adler's charms (and her blaster), Halt's more traditional Ranger tactics, and Flynn's light fingered ways, they'd managed to break through all but two levels of security that guarded the jail where Butler and District 4's Victors were being kept.

They'd lost Oaken two floors ago, and Irene was nursing a broken arm, but you really only needed one to shoot a blaster, as she was presently demonstrating for the education of a few guards.

Halt dodged a Peacekeeper's desperate blasts and shoved a knife through a weak spot in the body armor. It might be blast and even somewhat explosion proof, but no one had thought anyone would dare to take on the Peacekeepers with a couple of knives.

Come to think of it, that might have been the reasoning behind Flynn grabbing a frying pan for his weapon of choice. It was proving to be surprisingly effective. The last Peacekeeper had just gone down with a clang.

Halt took a moment to get his breath back. He wasn't quite as young as he used to be, not that he'd ever admit that out loud.

Will screamed. Not in warning, not from surprise or a sudden burst of fear, but in the kind of pain that would make the Cruciatus Curse seem pleasant.

Halt had an arrow ready to shoot before he could think. Eyes wild, he spun around, desperately searching for the source of that terrible, terrible sound.

The scream started mingling with others. Gilan. Crowley. Pauline. Others he didn't recognize, but a peripheral part of his brain noticed the others going white.

Pale and shaking, but still functioning, Irene raised her blaster and shot out the intercom. The screams went silent.

Panic was not an emotion Halt was overly familiar with, but it was making his acquaintance now. "Have they - "

"It was a trick," Flynn said hoarsely. "A manipulation."

"How can you be sure?" he demanded.

"Because one of the people screaming has been dead for years now," Flynn said shortly. He took a deep breath. "Not that that makes it any more pleasant."

Halt's panic eased, only to be replaced with cold fury.

That's what others have been through. That's what they'll do to them if we lose.

"Then we move forward. How do we get through this one?"

Irene was already examining it. She frowned. "It's passcode protected instead of a retinal scan."

"Can you hack it?"

"I don't know."

Stumbling footsteps interrupted them. Halt turned, bow raised, to see a young man in expensive loafers and a bloodstained face limping down the hallway.

"I can," he said. "Or, rather, I already did. It's a bit lengthy though. It might be easier just to let me type it in."

Halt still hadn't lowered his bow. "And you are . . . "

"Artemis Fowl, at your service." He frowned. "Please put that down. What are these, the middle ages?"

. . . . .

President Snow gripped the table in his office. He was staring at the vase on his desk.

There was only a single petal remaining on the last flower.

It trembled, ready to fall.

. . . . .

Most of the Victors had left to fight. Billy Black had been forced to stay behind. Wheelchairs and gunfights rarely mixed well.

Granny had stayed behind to look after him. Of course, the view from his window also gave her an excellent opportunity to take potshots at passing Peacekeepers, so it was a win-win situation.

. . . . .

Deals are tricky things.

In the Dark Days, the Capital had captured Belle, forcing Rumplestiltskin to come to an accommodation with them. The deal had pretty much amounted to that they would leave each other alone, but it's consequences were more far reaching than that.

It meant that anyone who worked for the Capital couldn't touch him.

And for someone who had agreed to help cast a spell over all 13 districts of Panem just to get a shot at him, this was frustrating, to say the least.

But then Baelfire got a bump on the head. Nothing much. Just a bruise.

But the Capital had broken its deal. And with one deal in tatters, that left Zelena free to act.

Her appearance in Gold's apartment was explosive to say the least. The door blew backwards in a cloud of shrapnel and splinters. "Rumple. So good to see you again."

Mr. Gold had pushed Belle behind him protectively. He picked up the pistol on the table beside him. "Zelena. You're looking positively . . . emerald."

She smiled. "I see you're using your cane again. Too much trouble to heal that old limp?"

"I like the limp. It reminds me of something rather important."

"I'd ask what, but honestly I just can't wait another moment. What did you think of my lovely little curse?"

"Your curse? Rather ambitious of you, dearie. Rather clever, I'll admit, to keep the Districts down with a simple bit of mind magic to convince them they didn't have a chance against the Capital, but then, I worked all that out ages ago."

"Surely you aren't going to try and claim you knew it was me."

His eyes narrowed. Something finally clicked into place. "Ah. So that's it," he said quietly and smiled. "I did consider you for a while, but I did dismiss it eventually, you're right. You don't have enough power, for one thing, but there are ways you could have gotten more. What I never understood was the why."

Zelena's smile widened. "To get the one thing that could give me everything I wanted." She drew a knife from a sheath at her side. "To get this."

It wasn't a knife. It was a dagger.

The Dark One's dagger, to be precise.

Zelena kept her eyes locked on Rumplestiltskin. "By the power of the Dark One I command thee," she whispered.

She tilted her head towards Belle. Magic forced her forward, out in between the two of them.

"Kill her."

He could feel Belle stiffen behind him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised the gun and fired.

Zelena collapsed to the ground.

Rumplestiltskin walked over to her slowly. The shot had been nearly perfect but not quite. She was still breathing.

Her chest rose and fell desperately. "You - you're - "

He fired again at point blank range. She stopped talking.

"Not the Dark One anymore," he finished. He picked up the dagger. It was blank, it's power gone. "It seems true love really can break any curse."

"Including this one?" a polite voice asked.

Mr. Gold turned, pistol already rising. Three polite men in grey suits were standing in the doorway. Three wands were already raised.

All magic comes with a price. Apparently, the lack of magic had a price too.

He would never get three shots off in time.

"Avada - "

A number of things happened at once.

From behind the three men, three spells erupted and were followed by more in quick succession. Their exact details were lost in the overlap of voices, but he distinctly heard "Stupefy!" "Tarentella!" "Expelliarmus!" and the jelly legs curse. Several of those really should not be mixed.

At the same time, a book flew through the air and brained the leader. Two more quickly followed, and Belle was far from being short on ammunition.

The men collapsed in a rather tentacled heap. Behind them were two more wizards and a pink haired witch. They looked rather pleased with themselves.

Sirius grinned. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"Wotcher," Tonks greeted them. "Nice throw."

Remus looked tired but pleased with himself. He was the first to notice the fallen form of Zelena. "Who's that?"

Mr. Gold lowered his gun. "One of the traitors who started this mess."

"One of them?"

"She wasn't powerful enough to do it on her own." He nudged the limp body with his foot. "There'll be two more out there somewhere."

"Magic users?" Sirius checked.

"Obviously."

"Then I think I'm going to check down at these guys' headquarters. I'm not sure I got all the hexes out of my system yet."


	54. Reinforcements

About two seconds after Gwaine said the word "crash", he had been ejected from the pilot's seat, and Merlin had settled into his place.

Will was looking greener than ever. "We're crashing?"

"We are not crashing," Merlin hissed through clenched teeth.

Gwaine smiled from where he lay sprawled on the floor, completely relaxed. "I seem to have bad luck with flying. Last time I tried to pilot something I got hit too. Boom!" He mimed an explosion with his hands.

"Shouldn't you be a little more concerned?" Red demanded.

"Nah. Last time I didn't have Merlin in there with me. He'll get us down all right. He's a wizard with aircraft. And everything else, I guess."

Strangled sounds were coming from the cockpit.

"What's he saying?" Red asked nervously.

Arthur managed to pick out a few words. "He's insulting Gwaine's flying ability. In Old English."

"French too, from the sound of it," Gwaine said cheerfully. "Oh, and German! And is that the distinctive growling of the Dragon tongue I hear?"

"One minute, I leave you to fly for one minute - What did you do to this thing?"

"Hey, it's not my fault!" Gwaine protested. "Ms. Big Bad Wolf over there didn't warn me we were being fired at!"

Leah snarled.

"Or maybe I just didn't hear her," Gwaine backtracked.

The hovercraft pulled out of its plummet to the earth and started grinding forward at a more reasonable pace.

"Right, I've got her leveled off, but we lost more than three quarters of the engine power, so I'm mostly keeping us in the air through magic and will power."

"Good job, Will!" Gwaine cheered.

"Wha- Oh, shut up, Gwaine. Thanks to that daring stunt, we'll be landing any minute now."

"Where exactly?" Arthur asked.

Merlin paused. "Good question. Any suggestions?"

"Merlin!"

"Hey, this isn't as easy as it looks! Cut me some slack."

Leah let out a frustrated growl. Merlin jumped. "Hey, I can hear you!"

"So can the rest of us," Harry pointed out.

"No, not like that. Send me something else." A look of wonder crossed Merlin's face. "It's like the druids."

"Any time you feel like explaining - "

"The druids used to be able to send thoughts to one another. And to me. What the wolves do is very similar, but I'd never realized I could be part of the conversation before. That's convenient."

Leah nodded patiently.

"Oh, right. Huh. I'll admit, it's audacious."

"WHAT?" the others yelled at him.

Merlin turned back and grinned at them. "Leah heard that there's a hovercraft landing pad on the roof of the presidential mansion."

There was a moment of silence while they digested this. Harry and Arthur started to grin.

"I like it," Gwaine said with gusto. "Three cheers for the big bad wolf!"

Red smacked him.

. . . . .

There was a chasm in the middle of the road. It hadn't been there five minutes ago.

Then again, five minutes ago, Gandalf hadn't been facing off against Saruman.

Both gripped their staffs tightly. Saruman's face was twisted with rage, Gandalf's with sorrow.

"Why have you done this?"

Saruman sneered at him. "Power has its own rewards."

Gandalf looked around at the burning city. Nick Fury had managed to hack the Capital's computers and turn their traps against them. Panicked citizens rioted in the streets or sought safety deeper in. Victors and rebels battled Peacekeepers. Allies and enemies blurred together in the haze of smoke and blood. "I do not see them."

"This was but a small step on the path. Panem will yet be mine."

Gandalf brought his staff down firmly on the pavement. "No," he said firmly. "It will not."

Saruman laughed. "Who will stop me? You? Gandalf the Gray? Your powers are nothing compared to mine."

"Perhaps," he said quietly. "But I do not fight alone."

He lashed out with his staff. Winds swept towards Saruman, snatching at him, trying to drag him into the crevasse at his feet.

Saruman batted them aside.

He hadn't noticed the surge of power behind him.

Golden light rose in a dome that pushed outwards, sweeping him off his feet. He fell forward into the crevasse, only catching onto the edge by his fingertips.

Galadriel, beautiful and terrible, was revealed behind him. Saruman desperately tried to pull himself up.

Galadriel pushed her hands forward. The crevasse in the street closed, Saruman still inside.

Gandalf flinched. Galadriel stumbled, the glow around her diminishing as the use of power took its toll. Gandalf rushed forward. "My lady, are you all right?"

"Fine," she gasped. "Fine." She straightened slowly.

Another practitioner of the curse dead. Gandalf felt no joy. Only weariness.

A little girl stood screaming on the sidewalk. A wild eyed man with a gun turned towards her, weapon raised.

Gandalf batted him aside with his staff and strode forward. There was yet work to be done.

. . . . .

"Teddy!" the little girl screamed, squirming in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock tried to reason with her. "You stuffed bear has by now been burned to cinders. There is no point in risking further smoke inhalation by returning for him."

"Teddy!"

Sherlock tried to sigh, but it came out as a cough instead. Smoke roiled above them and the heat of the flames was far too close. They had to get out now. The ceiling was starting to buckle.

John was right behind him, leading two more of the little ones by the hand. Sherlock pushed the door open with his shoulder.

 _Who had closed it?_

It banged open to reveal a line of Peacekeepers waiting outside.

That was unfortunate.

"Turn around," he rasped. "Kitchen door, kitchen door!"

They stumbled through the burning house. Mycroft fell in behind them. Cracks raced through the ceiling. Furniture lit with nightmarish flames, licking at the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Sparks fell on them in a shower. The little girl screamed as her hair caught on fire.

Sherlock dropped her to the floor and forced her to roll. The flames were beaten out, but smoke curled from the charred edges of her hair.

So much smoke . . .

Sherlock estimated they had less than five minutes to get out of the building, assuming they wanted to do so alive.

They burst through the rickety door to the kitchen. It hadn't caught yet, but bags of flour and and bottles of oil glistened evilly in anticipation.

 _The smoke must be affecting my mental processes. Food is inanimate. It has no concept of morality._

John struggled with the latch on the door. He let out a yelp as the heated metal burned his skin, but the door came open.

More Peacekeepers waited outside.

"No," Sherlock hissed.

"Now what?" John asked. Still so confident in his ability to figure out any problem, solve any puzzle, even now.

"I - I - " I don't know.

Then the Millennium Falcon came screaming down from the sky.

Pew, pew, pew!

Laser blasts streamed from its guns at sharp angles, scorching Peacekeepers and ground alike. When the last one was gone, the ship turned and headed towards the main part of the city.

Sherlock's jaw dropped. "What was that?"

"Theorize later, run now," John said, pushing out into the clean, safe air.

. . . . .

Butler lay back against the table. The world was spinning around him.

Master Artemis might need me. Must find Master Artemis.

But he couldn't move.

The door slid open.

Not again. Not so soon.

"Hello, old friend," Artemis said. "You're looking a bit tired."

Butler struggled to raise his head. No. It was impossible. Impossible.

"Artemis?" he croaked.

"The one and only."

"What are you doing here?"

"I believe the colloquial term is 'jail break.'" He punched a few numbers into the keypad on the wall. The cuffs began to retract.

Shouting came from down the hallway. Artemis frowned for a moment before his expression cleared. "Ah. It would appear our friends from Four are out as well."

. . . . .

Elyan stood on the roof of the former Peacekeeper headquarters and looked out at the city with a great deal of satisfaction.

A thought occurred to him. "Hey, Perce!"

"Yeah?"

"We still got that flag from Camelot that Merlin donated to the cause?"

"Somewhere. Why?"

Elyan looked at the now empty flagpole on the roof. "It's missing something."

Half an hour later, a red flag was flapping in the breeze.

"Long live Camelot. Long live Emrys. Long live the king," Elyan said quietly.

"Long live the king."

. . . . .

Will threw himself against the cabin wall and drained his flask dry of its last drop of water. A moment later, Elizabeth did the same.

They looked at each other. "Ready for another bout?" Will asked.

"Always," she said drawing her sword with a smile, but her breathing was still ragged.

This would be their last charge. Will knew it in his bones.

Or perhaps they'd already died and gone to Davy Jones' locker. Will had no idea why there'd be three foot tall men in green uniforms and carrying blasters in Davy Jones' locker, but it certainly made more sense than them showing up in miniature hovercraft in Four.

One particularly red faced one was yelling, "Take that, mud men!" as he blasted through the Peacekeepers ranks.

Will and Elizabeth looked at each other again. The strange creatures did, after all, appear to be on their side . . .

So, as one, they shrugged, and charged once more.

. . . . .

The hovercraft shuddered to stop on the landing pad on the presidential mansion. Will stumbled to his feet looking deeply thankful it was over.

"Now what?" Red asked.

Arthur stretched his shoulders. "I think I'd like a word with our dear President Snow."


	55. Let It Go

**A/N: Let it go, let it go, let's all kill President Snow . . . If you haven't already seen it, search for that pin on Pinterest. It's awesome.**

. . . . .

Standing on the roof of the presidential mansion was a slightly surreal experience.

The sudden fire from the Peacekeepers pouring onto the roof made it slightly less so.

Leah jumped back, growling. This could get ugly.

Merlin swung down beside her and swept them off the roof with an almost negligent wave of his hand.

Will peered down the ramp at them, still looking slightly green. "Remind me again why you didn't single handedly take down the Capital years ago?"

"There was a curse," Merlin said absently as he scanned the roof for more threats. "Rather impressive one, really. It played on people's emotions to convince them not to try it."

"How come we're doing it then?" Harry asked.

Merlin's eyes narrowed. "It's breaking. There's only a thread left now."

"Who broke it? You?"

"Believe it or not, I'm not responsible for absolutely everything magical that goes on in Panem. Spells like that rely on feelings of fear, apathy, and hopelessness. When our friend Mr. Fowl threw us all in the Games, it was a direct challenge to that kind of thinking."

Arthur climbed down. "When who did what?"

"If you like we can all sit down and discuss the intricate details of about a century's worth of intrigue. Or we can do what we came for. Shall we?" Merlin gestured towards the door that led down from the roof.

"Right," Gwaine said, starting down.

"Not you, Gwaine," Arthur said. "Someone needs to stay here to watch Baelfire."

"I'll do it," Red volunteered.

"Excellent," Gwaine said. "I'd hate to miss seeing Snow get what's coming to him."

Leah padded over to the door and nudged it open with her nose. She growled in frustration. As she'd suspected. Stairs.

Merlin peered over her shoulder. "Might be easier if you changed back."

 _I can't,_ she said irritably.

"Why not?"

 _Because unlike Miss Fairy Tale over there, I wouldn't have any clothes on._

Merlin choked. "Oh. Um. Good reason."

 _So unless you can magic me some up . . ._

"Usually it's just easier to steal some. I've never tried before."

 _Thought so._

"What are we stealing?" Gwaine asked.

"Leah some clothes, if we happen across any."

"Can't you just . . ." Gwaine waved his hands.

"Not if we want them to fit, no," Merlin said testily.

"Surely it's come up before. What did you do then?"

"Usually just grabbed something from somebody's closet."

Realization dawned on Arthur's face. "So that's why - " He burst out laughing.

"What?" Will asked.

Arthur just kept laughing.

"Yes, thank you. So glad the penny's finally dropped. And it only took, what, a thousand years? More?"

Arthur was still laughing as they descended the stairs into the mansion.

The stairs were too dark for anyone but someone with Leah's night vision. "Lumos," Harry whispered. A soft golden light filled the stairway.

"Handy that," Arthur whispered.

"Lock picking charm's even handier," Merlin murmured.

That caught just about everyone's attention. "Lock picking charm?"

"Haven't you ever used it?" he asked Harry.

Harry shook his head. "The twins have been looking for it for ages, but no one's known the incantation for years now."

"How did you forget the lock picking charm?" Merlin demanded.

"I don't know, I wasn't there when it happened!"

Merlin began muttering about the state of modern wizardry.

By unspoken consent, everyone stopped talking as they neared the bottom of the staircase. Whispers had seemed appropriate even at the top. They weren't really hiding, technically, but it didn't seem right to go about shouting either.

Of course, Gwaine started whistling something cheery right about then, so there went the ominous atmosphere right out the window. But then, what could you expect from the man who, on a quest to retrieve the queen from the Dark Tower, had shared his dream about a cheese that tasted of apple pie?

The door was set to automatically lock every time it was closed. A keypad waited beside it.

"Right, in the interest of furthering your magical education, I'll refrain from blowing it to bits in favor of revealing one of the great magical secrets of the ages: Alohomora."

The door clicked open.

"There's no need to be quite so patronizing about it," Harry muttered.

 _Now, now, old age has to have a few perks._

"Hey!"

The others looked at him. They couldn't hear her.

 _And you're hearing voices. Must be going senile, old man._

 _Not funny_ , he shot back. Not after all those long years alone when he'd felt himself . . . slipping. Not after people had assumed the worst about Gwaine's visions and locked him up in an asylum. Old time treatments for insanity had been . . . interesting. By the time Merlin had found him, well . . . Some things even magic couldn't fix.

Leah caught the drift of his thoughts. _Sorry. I didn't know._

 _I'm just oversensitive_. He tried to shrug it off.

She saw too much to let him. _They don't see how much everything that's happened hurts you, do they? You don't let them._

He flinched. _It's better this way. No need for them to hurt too_.

She thought back to her own experiences with Sam. _Yes_ , she agreed sadly.

He studied her. He'd caught some of that. _I'm sorry._ The thought was gentle. She shrugged.

"Hey, lovebirds, can we get a move on?" Gwaine hissed.

"Shut up, Gwaine," Merlin said without any real rancor.

There were surprisingly few obstacles in their path. Then again, no one had really anticipated a fight from this direction.

Leah paused at the first intersection. _Which way?_

 _How should I know?_

"Straight ahead," Will hissed.

"How can you tell?"

"Because of the great big bronze plaque that says 'President Snow's Office' on the door."

"Oh. Right."

"Dollophead," Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

"That's my word," he complained as they went forward.

The door was locked. "Harry?" Merlin offered.

"Alohomora," he chanted. The lock clicked.

Merlin shook his head. "Your accent is terrible."

"Next time _you_ can do it."

"Okay," Merlin agreed. "Tospringe!"

The door flew off its hinges.

"Tacky," Gwaine said disapprovingly.

"The door was already unlocked," Will agreed.

"Everyone's a critic," he grumbled.

President Snow stood from behind his desk. He reached for something, probably an alarm.

Merlin blew out the electronics in a wave of sparks.

The only other thing on the desk was a vase with a single rose left in it. The last petal was dying and ready to fall.

One by one, the former tributes filed in. Leah snarled. Arthur drew his sword. Harry had his wand at the ready. Will pulled his knives from their sheaths.

"That was surprisingly easy," Arthur commented.

"It really was," Will agreed. "But there is a small flaw in our plan."

"Oh?"

"We never decided who got to kill him."

"We could draw straws," Gwaine suggested. "Think you could summon some up for us, Merlin?"

 _Better make it quick,_ Leah advised. _My self-control is slipping._

"That," President Snow said quietly, "would be unwise."

Arthur shook his head, hating what he had to say. "He's right."

The others looked at him. "What?"

"We can't start a new government on blatant murder. Not if it's going to mean anything."

"He never cared about anything like that," Will said furiously.

"Arthur's right," Harry said. "He needs to die. But he needs to stand trial first."

The president smiled pleasantly. "Oh, I'm afraid killing Snow is no longer the question. He's been dead for nearly half an hour now. I ate him."

Merlin drew in a quick breath, instinctively stepping in front of Arthur. Leah growled and edged closer to Merlin. "If Snow's dead," he said, "then who are you?" He began rifling through his memories quickly for a shapeshifter who could be that convincing.

Snow stepped around his desk. "You know what your problem is, Emrys?"

The air shivered and tightened as Merlin drew magic to him. "What?"

"You spent so long fighting old enemies, you forgot that you were still making new ones." The shapeshifter slashed his hand through the air at the same time Merlin shouted an incantation. In the split second before the magic took effect, Leah lunged forward and bit down on the enemy's arm.

A shudder seemed to go through the very fabric of the world. Fire blossomed in slow motion in the air between Emrys and "Snow".

Then all three of them, Emrys, "Snow", and Leah, disappeared. Time sped up again, and the fireball blew through where the shapeshifter had been standing and dissipated into the air.

At the same moment, the walls of the office disappeared to reveal lines of Peacekeepers with blasters loaded and ready to fire. All weapons were raised at the small band.

"Fire!"

. . . . .

 **A/N: In conclusion, don't kill me. The last two chapters will be up tomorrow.**


	56. Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

Merlin stumbled. Translocation spells always left him dizzy.

His stomach rolled. He knew this place. It hadn't changed much over the centuries. If anything, the apocalypse had left it even bleaker, if that were possible. The grey cliffs now had cracks running through them, and the edge where he had once thrown down lightning at Morgana's forces trembled, ready to fall.

Grey clouds roiled over Camlann fields ominously. Already, they were charged with magic, as if the whole world was waiting for its fate to once again turn upon this battleground.

The creature flickered into existence ahead of him, Leah's jaws still clamped upon his arm.

Merlin knew from personal experience how strong an ordinary wolf's jaws were, much less one designed to kill vampires.

"Snow" threw her off like it was nothing. Her body twisted as she flew off the edge of the cliff.

Merlin snarled and drew the winds together with a twist of his wrist. He lifted his arm slowly, pulling Leah to safety as he did so.

The shapeshifter chuckled. "Still trying to save your friends after all your failures?"

"Shut up," Merlin growled. He set Leah down a few feet behind him.

The shapeshifter grinned. "Still so defiant. Still trying to save your precious, dying Arthur - "

"What?"

The shapeshifter waved his hand negligently. Steam rose from a pool of water beside him. It coalesced and twisted into a vision of Snow's office.

The walls were gone. Peacekeepers raised their weapons.

"Fire!" The sound was distorted but there was no mistaking the command.

"We can watch him die in slow motion," he said with unrestrained glee. The blasts from the guns slowed to almost nothing as did the group's reactions. "Which one do you think will be the one to - "

Merlin blasted the shapeshifter off the cliff with a howl of rage.

Moments later, he was back, now in the form of a bird. Human speech somehow still twisted its way out of his throat. "Missed me, missed me - But of course, you'll miss your friends more."

The vision dissipated as Merlin screamed again.

. . . . .

"Fire!"

"Protego!" Harry yelled at nearly the same moment. Normally all the spell would have produced would have been a slightly curved wall, but his wand seemed to sense his intentions and it blossomed into a protective bubble around the group. The blasts deflected off of it and back into the crowd of Peacekeepers.

"Good one," Gwaine panted. "Now what?"

Will drew an arrow from his quiver. "Can we shoot out?"

"How should I know?" Harry snapped. "No one's tried an arrow against these things since the Middle Ages."

"Right. Everyone back up so that if this thing deflects - "

They squeezed together. Will aimed for the Head Peacekeeper and fired.

The arrow bristled in his throat.

"Excellent," Will said with no little satisfaction. "It must only stop energy."

Arthur looked thoughtful. "Could you keep it around us if we were moving?"

Harry looked at Arthur's drawn sword and grinned. "I'll see what I can do."

. . . . .

A stone fist erupted from the earth and closed around the bird.

A second later, the stone bulged in spirals as something inside it began tunneling down.

At a word of command from Merlin, the rock exploded, revealing a hideous gigantic worm with tombstone teeth.

 _What is that?_

"Rock wyrm. Forbearne!"

The wyrm flew into the air, but the shapeshifter just twisted into a pterodactyl and swept towards them.

Merlin drew in the magic fizzling in the clouds and channeled it into an enormous blast of lightning. The pterodactyl fell smoking to the earth.

Leah growled, her hair still standing on end. _Is it dead?_

The pterodactyl started bubbling into a new shape.

"Apparently not." He gritted his teeth and called down another blast of lightning. And another. And another.

Which might have worked had it not turned into a ventus - a storm spirit.

"All these years you've waited for him, only for him to let you down again. Tut, tut. You'll have to tell poor Gwenny-poo that he's not coming home - "

"He's not dead!" Merlin stole the winds the ventus was riding, essentially starving it.

A small fox fell to the earth in its place. "Even if she survives the uprising, you'll have to watch her die eventually. They'll all leave you eventually. And this time, they won't be coming back."

"Shut up," Merlin hissed.

Leah shivered. A wave of hopelessness and grief crashed into her. Was it coming from Merlin or -

She narrowed her eyes. The shapeshifter.

"You'll be all alone."

That hit a chord with Merlin. He stumbled.

Leah growled. _He'll have me,_ she said defiantly, pushing on the thought as hard as she could, hoping the shifter could hear her.

"No one lives forever."

 _He can. And so can I. You, on the other hand, are about to die, little man. And I will dance on your bones._

The shapeshifter laughed, but some of his certainty seemed to be fading even as Merlin recovered.

Merlin grinned at her. "Bloodthirsty. I like that in a girl."

 _Woman_ , she corrected primly. _Blast him with lightning again. The ground could use scorching._

"Happy to."

It bought them a few seconds at least, but how did you kill something that could heal itself?

The shapeshifter disappeared.

"Uh-oh," Merlin muttered.

Then the ground exploded beneath his feet. He flew through the air and landed on his back, skidding several feet. Leah skittered back.

 _A rock wyrm again? No imagination._ The flippant comment hided her worry. _You all right?_

"Fine," he gasped. "Why bother, shifter? Why bother with any of this? I can't die."

"No, but your friends can. All that fear, all that grief, all that anger . . . " The shapeshifter gave a little shudder of pleasure. "It's all so much more intense coming from you. It's almost better than that curse I helped set up."

 _He needs to die,_ Leah thought flatly. _Can't you pull a Puss in Boots on him?_

 _Yeah, I'm sure he'll be real happy to turn into a mouse for me_. Merlin paused. _Then again . . ._

Merlin began summoning fire. It collected in a growing ball in his hands. Then, on the wind, he sent the faintest hint of a suggestion.

 _Wyvern_ , he whispered mentally. It was just a grain of an idea, floating on the wind.

He hurled the fire. The shapeshifter changed into a form that could resist it.

And since he had delusions of grandeur, he didn't change into a wyvern. He became a full blown dragon.

 _Mouse! I said mouse! Not dragon!_ Not _dragon!_

The shapeshifter let out a chuckling roar.

Merlin strode forward. The words came out as roars, but he whispered the words in her mind. "By the power of the dragonlords, I command thee," he said quietly. "Do not change from this form."

The dragon's eyes widened.

"Die."

The dragon opened its mouth to speak, but all that came out were choked half sentences as its air was slowly cut off. "But - not real - dragon."

"Close enough," Merlin said in that deadly quiet tone.

The dragon part of the shapeshifter must have interpreted the command as to stop breathing, because it continued to suffocate. It stumbled to its knees before falling still.

The majestic dragon slowly melted into a small grey slug.

The moment it fell, Merlin was running to the pool. "Show me," he demanded.

A view of President's Snow's office - former office, whatever - came up.

"They're alive," he breathed. He sank to his knees in relief. "They're alive."

Leah walked over and nudged his side. Something tight had eased in her chest. She didn't know most of the members of the group all that well, but it hadn't taken a genius to figure out that if they'd died, Merlin would never have recovered.

After several minutes silence, Leah spoke up. _So, dragonlord, huh?_

He shrugged. "It's not a title that comes up all that often anymore. Not too many dragons left, and most of them steer clear of Panem. District 9's got some very strange ideas about dragons."

Leah looked at the pathetic grey slug that was all that was left of the "dragon" and sighed.

 _Shame. It'd be nice to see a real one._

"I'll take you to meet one sometime," Merlin promised.

Leah perked up. _Really_?

"It's a date," he said, then blushed quickly. "Er, I mean, if you want it to be. I, uh - "

 _Meeting a dragon,_ she mused. _Hardly a traditional first date. I approve._

. . . . .

Arthur paced the office, carefully stepping over dead Peacekeepers as he went. "Where are those two?"

"They'll be fine," Gwaine said. "Merlin's immortal, remember?"

"Still got some nasty bruises though," Merlin grumbled.

A grin split Arthur's face. "Merlin!" He clapped him on the back.

"Worried, sire?" Merlin asked with a grin.

"About you? Nah."

"Which is why you've been pacing nonstop for the past ten minutes, of course," Will said, rolling his eyes. "Hello, Merlin."

Arthur coughed. "Maybe I was a little concerned." He changed the subject quickly. "And what's that stupid grin about?"

Said stupid grin didn't even falter. In fact, it grew wider. "I've got a date."

The last petal drifted to the floor and crumbled to nothing.

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: Don't go away! Epilogue coming soon! But since no one will be dying in it, let's go ahead and look at some statistics, shall we?**

 **Of the twenty-four official tributes, six escaped the arena together, five actively and one while unconscious, three faked their deaths, and the remaining fifteen died. Of those, six died in the initial bloodbath.**

 **Of the twenty-six sentient beings in the arena (Tinker Bell and Merlin being added to the mix), eleven survived the arena, but only ten made it out of the rebellion as a whole alive.**

 **Discounting the animated statues, Morgana and Tia Dolma are tied for the highest kill rate, with each clocking in at three. Tia Dolma wins out for the title of surviving tribute with highest kill rate. No one else killed more than one person, and a surprising number killed none.**

 **Now for the surprising thing: I tore these characters from their home worlds and placed them in a dystopian nation. And yet . . . (Skip to the bottom if you don't want all the details.)**

 **District One experienced fatalities equal or lesser to the ones in the books.**

 **District Two suffered higher fatalities.**

 **District Three had fewer over all fatalities, although it did have one greater major character death.**

 **District Four suffered fatalities equal or lesser to the ones in the movies.**

 **District Five suffered higher fatalities.**

 **District Six suffered fewer. WAY fewer.**

 **District Seven suffered fatalities equal or lesser to those in the books.**

 **District Eight likewise.**

 **District Nine suffered fewer fatalities.**

 **District 10 . . . has fewer deaths . . . but of a more permanent nature . . . It's superheroes, folks, make your own call on this one.**

 **District 11 suffered fewer fatalities.**

 **District 12 suffered more, but I'm fairly certain that will no longer be true after Season Four airs. We'll see.**

 **District 13 suffered fewer.**

 **Do you know what this means?**

 **It means that five of the thirteen districts are HAPPIER IN A DYSTOPIAN WORLD THAN THEIR CURRENT ONE, and another five are no worse off.**

 **That's insane.**


	57. Epilogue

**A/N: I know some people consider epilogues like this to be overly sentimental. I know some people consider "and they all got married and had kids" endings to be either unrealistic or otherwise unpalatable.**

 **Personally, I've always had a weakness for knowing exactly what happened, and I refuse to throw in random breakups for the sake of it.**

. . . . .

Arthur Pendragon was eventually elected president of the new nation. He was noted for his fair and just rule, his integration of science and magic, and for his two most trusted advisors, his wife, Guinevere, and twice lifetime friend, Merlin. Five years into his marriage, he learned Merlin hadn't been joking about the twins.

Tony Stark married Pepper Potts and moved to District 3 where he developed weaponry and armor for the new law enforcement squad colloquially known as the Avengers that hunted down criminals and the monsters that still haunted the edges of the nation. He was particularly proud of the full body suits he produced for the armored division. He kept his favorite for himself, but also produced one for his friend and associate Bruce Banner, who had earned his doctorate in the years after the war. It was green. Bruce was delighted.

He hadn't forgotten old friends from 10. He started a nationwide initiative to build monuments to the fallen tributes. Ten's featured statues of Clint and Natasha with hands intertwined. The pedestal held the names of all of the fallen.

He also designed a special suit for Steve Rogers that compensated for his health problems and frailty. Steve joined the Avengers where he served with distinction and enthusiasm. Bucky commissioned his own suit and followed after him in order to keep an eye on him.

Steve and Peggy married. After their first child was born, Steve retired from law enforcement and turned to politics. Despite his unimposing frame, he did well. Bucky Barnes stayed on at the Avengers, eventually becoming director, but he was also Steve's most vocal supporter and unofficial PR director.

The Rangers were offered induction as a branch of the Avengers, but they voted to remain autonomous. Halt served for many more years, now the happy husband of Pauline. The two never had children, but they did officially adopt Will. When Halt eventually retired, Will was offered his position, but he turned it down. Instead, Gilan became head of the Corps, much to his wife, famous chef Jenny's, pride.

Will became the Corps' most celebrated Ranger and was legendary in his own lifetime. He married Alyss and had two children with her. His son became a diplomat; his daughter, a Ranger.

Mycroft became an indispensable part of the new government, although he assured anyone who asked that he occupied only a minor position.

Sherlock purchased an apartment in the Capital and became Panem's first consulting detective. John went to medical school and found work as a pediatrician. He shared the flat with Sherlock and helped him with his cases. He also wrote a collection of highly praised memoirs about his life and that of his friend. Books were "in" at the moment, reality TV being most definitely "out".

After five years of waiting, Tonks gave up and told Lupin point blank that she wanted a wedding for Christmas. Lupin took the hint. Sirius was the best man at his wedding. Lupin panicked when Tonks announced she was pregnant for the first time. Fortunately, Sirius and Harry were there to knock some sense into him. He handled Tonks's next two announcements much better, and only panicked about the twins for obvious reasons.

Harry married Ginny and was godfather to Ron and Hermione's children. Despite his protests at the time, his ribs did eventually recover from the bear hugs he received after he returned home. Sirius and Molly still argue over who was most responsible for the bruising. The entire Weasley family, and Harry's extended family in the form of Sirius and the Lupins, went to Luna's grave each year. When a new cryptozoology discovery was made, it was named the Crumple-horned Snorckack in her honor.

The Weasley twins started a joke shop. They might have owned it, but suggestions from family were always welcome.

Merlin eventually returned Harry's cloak.

Leah and Merlin eventually married. She is somewhat curious as to what effect mixing the werewolf and wizarding genes will produce, but she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it. She remains in touch with Ruby, and the two women are close friends. Gwaine swears he'll get the woman to go on a date with him one day.

The Cullens were relieved to have Edward home again. After hearing the shape England was in, they decided to head off and see what shape the rest of the world was in. Their reports have been interesting, to say the least.

Mr. Gold stayed more or less on the straight and narrow with Belle and Baelfire's help. He and Belle were married a year after the final Hunger Games. Although he sometimes missed his power, he knew the loss was worth it.

Anna blamed Flynn for Elsa's death. She greeted him with a frying pan when he first returned to the district. Their relationship could really only go up from there.

Anna gradually forgave Flynn, and herself, for what had happened. Flynn came to regard her as a younger sister. Flynn had an obelisk erected with 5's tributes on it. He placed Rapunzel's name on the east side, and Elsa's on the north. When the sun first rose on Rapunzel's name, the carved letters were filled with a substance that resembled gold. It glows especially brightly in the first rays of dawn. Elsa's name filled with snow when the north wind touched it. Every snowflake that falls in the district seems to kiss her name. On more than one winter morning, someone has found Flynn and Anna asleep on their respective sides of the obelisk and holding hands. It is the unspoken law of the district that no one is to mention it.

Tia Dolma is presumably doing quite well. Will and Elizabeth Turner named their first child after their childhood friend, Jack. Captain Morgan, with equal emotion, rechristened his ship after his lost son.

Gandalf, much to his surprise, found himself voted mayor of 3. Although he feared he had failed his many tributes, he did his best for the people there, which was far more than he knew. He was eventually succeeded by Aragorn with his wife, Arwen.

Galadriel went to Gimli's grave and buried a locket with three locks of her hair in it to replace the one he had lost to Morgana's fire. Both he and Eowyn were much grieved.

The boys of the orphanage never forgot Peter. One of them, James, grew up to join the Avengers. The others each did well in their own way.

Jack Frost accidentally acquired a pile of stardust. Obviously, he was already an immortal flyer, but he finds children - and a surprising number of adults - can see him now.

Butler missed his sister deeply. In his grief, he devoted himself even more deeply to his work.

Artemis never forgave himself for Juliet's death, but he was otherwise well pleased with the fruit of his plan. He served as a diplomat between Panem and the Lower Elements Council. The Little People were finally able to come above ground once more. He married Minerva Paradizo.

The inhabitants of District 13 did quite well, although the Jedi Council was criticized for not acting sooner.

In short, they lived. They lived beautiful, terrifying, grand, world changing, heartbreaking, hilarious, wonderful lives.

They owed the dead no less.

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: Wow. It's been a fun ride, and I'm sorry to see it end. Thank you for your comments and PMs. Interacting with readers is one of the best parts of writing, don't you think?**

 **If you have any questions about any of the characters' fates, please ask.**

 **I might return to their world someday with one shots or a prequel about the Dark Days. Right now though I'm tossing around doing either a Merlin or an Avengers multichapter fanfic. We'll have to see.**

 **Thank you all for reading!**


	58. Bonus Chapter: Heroes' Worth

**Note: Sharonneke95, this is for you. I hope you approve.**

 **Everyone else, here's a missing scene from earlier. Consider it a bonus chapter.**

 **. . . . .**

Niall earned an eight for weight lifting. Juliet earned a ten for martial prowess, Peter a six, and Molly a seven.

Gimli earned a nine for excellent axe work. He would have gotten an eight, but there'd been something about that look in his eyes. Eowyn took that score instead with an excellent display of swordsmanship.

. . . . .

Tia Dolma could not, of course, simply turn into a thousand lobsters in order to get a good score.

Well, she could. But it would too much away far too early in the game.

Instead, she made a voodoo doll of one of the judges and used it.

He survived.

She got an eleven.

. . . . .

Jack had intended to do some fast talking and some faster sword work.

Unfortunately, that thrice cursed monkey had followed him down there, and he ended up accidentally giving an excellent display of his skills on an impromptu obstacle course instead.

He got a seven. There seemed to be a lot of those this year.

. . . . .

Elsa got a four for an uninspired display of shaky knife work. Hans got a three. He laughed it off with a smile.

. . . . .

Afterwards, none of the judges could remember Baelfire's performance. Embarrassed, they gave him a seven. They weren't sure why. It just felt right.

Not too high, not too low. Perfect, in other words, in Mr. Gold's eyes.

. . . . .

Red was good at tracking. Very good.

There wasn't exactly much to track in the Training Room. There weren't any crossbows either.

All the judges were looking at her. She felt her throat go dry.

"Um, hi." She searched desperately for something to say or do.

Somehow, what came out of her mouth was, "I murdered my boyfriend. Peter. You can look it up."

She clapped a hand over her mouth and ran out of the room.

She got a five.

. . . . .

Will's archery earned him an eleven. Cassandra's sling earned her only a six. Her sling work was good, but one look at her was enough to know she wouldn't last long in the Games.

Will had considered, briefly, shooting at the Gamemakers. He decided against it at the last second. If the Capital didn't kill him, Halt would.

. . . . .

Edward ghosted into the room so silently no one realized he was there until there were only thirty seconds left on the clock, and he crunched into an apple he'd stolen from the roasted pig's mouth.

He got a ten and the satisfaction of knowing he'd scared them witless. He wondered if his score would have been affected at all if they'd seen him throw the apple back up ten minutes later.

. . . . .

Leah refused to perform for them like a trained dog. She'd taken the opportunity to steal a knife she planned to use to scratch her name on the wall with later. A little memento for future tributes.

She got a two. It would have been lower, but they'd been alerted she'd managed to steal the knife.

. . . . .

Harry set the training room on fire. Accidentally.

. . . Sort of.

He got an eight.

. . . . .

Air still smoky, Luna wandered in. She painted a lovely picture of Jack Frost helping her chase down a nargle.

She got a one.

Seneca Crane pulled rank and claimed the painting, though.

. . . . .

Natasha earned an eleven for knife throwing shortly after Clint earned the same for archery.

He wondered if any of the judges noticed he'd time the release of the arrows so that the sound of them thumping into the targets spelled out "I hate you" in morse code.

. . . . .

Merlin offered to enchant the judges to give Arthur a twelve. Arthur turned him down and helped make Games history with a record number of elevens.

Morgana had no such inhibitions. She got the twelve. It would make her a target, but then, why should she care?

. . . . .

Sherlock scared the judges more than Edward had. He recited their entire life stories, and he wasn't gentle. In vengeance, they gave him a four. He shrugged it off in public and privately sulked.

Mary ended the proceedings with a whimper by throwing knives with shaking hands. The knives didn't even stick.

The judges were so relieved she wasn't Sherlock they gave her a five.

. . . . .

 **A/N: One of the OUaT extras included a commercial for Granny's Diner, starring a very nervous Red. I feel like it's safe to say she doesn't like being the center of attention, even if she is a bit of a flirt. That's why I had her react as she does.**


	59. Bonus Chapter: Prequel Snippets

**A/N: Prompt #12 - Night.**

* * *

By all rights, they ought to hate the night.

It was night, after all, when the nightmares came.

Peter often had nightmares. Between the Games and daily life in the districts, there was a lot to be afraid of.

But he loved the stars. He loved their remote, burning glory. Nothing could touch them, not even the Capital. They were perfectly safe and perfectly wonderful.

Peter thought it might be nice to perfectly safe. Just for a while.

* * *

It was night when Sirius was forced to return home. Home had food, at least, except on the occasions that everyone, absolutely everyone, had to do without, but it also had his mother and, consequently, bruises that were hard to explain.

But at night all the cousins puts aside the day's pretensions and piled into one another's rooms, too weary to fight anymore. At night there was just one big, whispering pile that made up for the day's pinching words.

Sirius thought it was almost worth his mother to feel his cousins' love. To feel like a proper brother again.

* * *

It was night when James died, not that he knew that for most of his life.

But it was also night when he got to curl up by the fire and scribble out ideas for pranks, magic, and how to lend a helping hand, all shared equally with his friends. It was night when he sketched on scraps of scavenged paper. Night when his mind soared from idea to idea.

James thought incredible things were just waiting at night, and he was right. Harry was born on a hot night in July.

* * *

It was night when Lupin was bitten and night when he changed.

It was also night when he drank his wolfsbane potion, product of his friends toiling for hours to help him find the ingredients. It was night when they turned into animagi to help him. It was night when, before he became a victor, that he used Peter's spell to light Sirius's candle to read the book that James had sent, and, after he became a victor, that they left the lights on in the house to pour over and debate some theory together.

Lupin thought it was night that showed him the greatness of his friends. Tanks approved of the rare positivity.

* * *

They probably should have feared the dark, but they had long ago learned better.


End file.
